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Still the Tiny Performers Maintained Their Equilibrium, 
and Balanced Their Gay Bodies in Time to the Lively 
Air That Peter Was Whistling. — Page 151. 



PARTNERS FOR FAIR 


BY 

ALICE CALHOUN RAINES 

Author of “The Luck of the Dudley Grahams f 
“ Cock-a-Doodle Hill etc. 


ILLUSTRATIONS BY FAITH AVERY 



NEW YORK 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

1912 



Copyright, 1912, 

BY 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 


Published August, 1912 


THE QUINN A BODEN CO. PRESS 
RAHWAY, N. J. 



£CI.A3a032I 



FOR 

BOYS AND GIRLS 
WHO 

LOVE DOGS 









CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

Peter Prayle and Peter Piper 




PAGE 

I 

II. 

Peter’s Prospects 




12 

III. 

Fire ! Fire ! . 




24 

IV. 

The Way Out 




33 

V. 

The Secret Cave 




43 

VI. 

A Fish Breakfast 




51 

VII. 

Tramping It ... 




58 

VIII. 

Peter Piper Deserts . 




67 

IX. 

The House in the Woods 




75 

X. 

The Twelve Portraits 




81 

XI. 

The Painted Scroll . 




88 

XII. 

A Footstep in the Sand . 




98 

XIII. 

“ Elephants to Ride Upon" 




106 

XIV. 

Five Hundred Dollars’ Reward 



113 

XV. 

Who Earned It? 




122 

XVI. 

Seven Wonders Farm 




129 

XVII. 

Old Oleson .... 




137 

XVIII. 

Peter’s Troupe 




146 

XIX. 

With the Caravan 




154 

XX. 

On the Road 




162 

XXI. 

Oleson’s Revenge 


• 

. 

169 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER 



PAGE 

XXII. 

The Enchanted Tower 


• 174 

XXIII. 

Peter Piper to the Rescue 


. l8l 

XXIV. 

The Miracle .... 


. 188 

XXV. 

Knights in Khaki 


. 192 

XXVI. 

The Red Flag .... 


. 200 

XXVII. 

Rosamund 


. 207 

XXVIII. 

Peter’s Family .... 


. 215 

XXIX. 

The Golden Circle . 


. 225 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Still the tiny performers maintained their equi- 
librium, AND BALANCED THEIR GAY BODIES IN TIME 
TO THE LIVELY AIR THAT PETER WAS WHISTLING 

Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Then Peter Prayle crawled up the beam to the 

LITTLE WINDOW TO RECONNOITER . . . . 41 

Then began a clamor 122 

The trumpeter raised his bugle to his lips . . 196 






PARTNERS FOR FAIR 


CHAPTER I 

PETER PRAYLE AND PETER PIPER 

“ T T A ! ha ! ha ! ” laughed all the children to- 
gether. 

“ He ! he ! ” chuckled the little old man. 

It was dark in the big barn. You could 
hardly see and the rain on the roof beat heavily. 

“ Now, Peter Piper!” cried a boy’s voice. 

And then, at last, your eyes, grown accus- 
tomed to the gloom, made out what was going on. 

It was some sort of a circus! The audience 
was seated on boxes or barrels, or the rungs of 
the ladder that led up into the hayloft, just any- 
where they could hang on, — except the chuckling 
little old man, who had a broken rocker. And 
the performer was a dog, very shadowy, dancing 
among the shadows. 

“ Now, Peter Piper! ” The boy who owned the 




2 

Partners for Fair 


dog began to beat time with his heels against 
the barrel on which he was perched, and which 
stood in the middle of the barn floor, and to whis' 
tie a lively air, while the dog on its hind legs, 
its forepaws drooping gracefully, circled round 
and round the barrel. The boy whistled with 
spirit, and the dog danced wonderfully well. A 
trained circus-dog could scarcely have done 
better ! 

“ Oh, oh! Jus’ look-a-there ! ” squirmed a lit- 
tle girl on one of the top rungs of the ladder. It 
was too dark to tell whether anybody’s eyes were 
blue or their hair yellow, or what they looked 
like very much; but this little girl was bunchy, 
and she squirmed so hard she nearly fell off, 
and had to be clutched and steadied by the legs 
by the child beneath her. 

“Look-a-there! That’s real jig-steps! Does 
he know any new tricks, Peter Prayle ? ” 

“ Sure,” answered the dog’s master lazily. 
But there was a good deal of secret pride hidden 
under his indifferent manner. “ How does Uncle 
Sammy listen to sermons in church, Sunday 
mornings, Peter Piper ? ” 


Peter Prayle and Peter Piper 3 

The dog, which had stopped dancing, and sat 
with cocked ears, lolling tongue, and gently 
waving tail, suddenly straightened himself. He 
posed his audience with an interrogative look, as 
if to ask “ Are you in the joke? ” Then closed 
both eyes, dropped to a crouching attitude, with 
'head on paws, blinked, snored, started, — and 
slumbered peacefully ! 

There was a wild explosion of giggles and 
applause among the children, punctuated by high 
delighted chuckles from Uncle Sammy in the 
broken rocker, who seemed to enjoy the joke 
as much as anybody! 

“ But how does Mrs. Hammer listen to ser- 
mons, Peter Piper? ” 

Peter Piper immediately sat up, alert, watchful. 
He turned his head this way and that. “ S-s-ick 
’em ! ” whispered Peter Prayle. And Peter 
Piper, selecting his child, a thin little colored 
boy, with ragged trousers and a wide mouth, 
pounced on him, shook him by the coat with low 
rumbling growls — and looked about for ap- 
plause. 

But this time the children hardly knew 




4 

Partners for Fair 


whether to laugh or not! They seemed almost 
more frightened than amused. It was funny, of 
course, but — what if anybody should tell? 

And at this very instant a stream of gray light 
penetrated the gloom of the barn. The little 
sidedoor had suddenly been thrown wide, while 
a deep, manlike voice demanded: 

“Where is Peter Prayle?” 

The only answer was a united gasp. For it 
was Mrs. Hammer herself who wanted to know ! 

“Where is Peter Prayle?” the deep, man- 
like voice again demanded. 

“ Here, ma’am ! ” The boy Peter slipped off 
the barrel, and advanced sheepishly toward the 
door; the dog Peter, his feathery tail drooping 
and wagless, followed close at heel. 

The children saw them disappear into the 
misty veil of gray rain outside. And the little 
door shut after them. 

Then the bunchy girl, whose name was Kate, 
quite lost her grip of the ladder, and started 
bumping down it, knocking the other children 
about as she fell, till there was quite a heap of 
them together on the floor. 


Peter Prayle and Peter Piper 5 

“ Peter — he’s a-goin’ to catch it ! ” predicted 
the bunchy girl, picking herself up. “ Oh, 
dear!” 

And nobody in all that mixed audience, 
(where another’s misfortunes were usually pleas- 
ing to at least one,) was glad! For the two 
Peters were general favorites. 

Outside in the rain, though it was still gray 
and misty enough, you could see better; so I 
shall take this opportunity to tell what the three 
who had come out of the barn looked like. 

Mrs. Hammer first : — for she was such a big 
woman that she seemed somehow to dwarf the 
barn, and fill the yard, and quite blot out Peter 
Prayle and Peter Piper. Her hair was iron-gray, 
and her eyes were iron-gray, and she had a 
black line of mustache across her upper lip. She 
walked with a determined stride, and never once 
looked behind her. She knew quite well that the 
two Peters would follow f And they did, won- 
dering if they had been found out. 

Peter Prayle was a slender boy, with blue eyes, 
and blond hair, and a face that was at present 
very anxious. But even so, he carried his head 




6 

Partners for Fair 


high and stepped lightly. Peter Piper was a 
dog; just a nice dog, of no particular breed, per- 
haps, (though people who wished to be truly 
polite called him an English setter, or a small- 
sized collie, remarking at the same time that he 
was slighter in build than most setters, and that 
his nose wasn’t quite the right shape for a collie.) 
He was sunny in color, with feathery ears and 
tail, — which at present drooped dejectedly. 

All this time Mrs. Hammer had been leading 
across the yard ; under the big cherry tree where 
a robin sang in the rain ; past the long, one-story 
refectory, which was divided from the main 
building by a sort of wooden runway; past the 
public double doors of the main building, over 
which hung a weather-beaten sign, reading: — 

“ County House for the Aged and Infirm 
Poor of Judson County,” 

and on to a smaller door with a little porch of 
its own, with — 


" Office of the Overseer ” 


Peter Prayle and Peter Piper 7 

painted in black letters across it. Here she 
stopped and knocked. 

For Mrs. Hammer’s husband was the over- 
seer, and to him she was taking the two 
Peters. 

“ Come in ! ” they were bidden. 

The office was small and dusty. In it sat two 
men at a square table. One of them had the 
face of a mole with a long nose and wrinkled 
eyelids that drooped down over his eyes, and 
a scrubby fringe of whiskers. The other had the 
face of a kindly but rather worried sheep. This 
was Mr. Hammer, the overseer of the poor, and 
Mrs. Hammer’s husband. 

“ Here,” said Mrs. Hammer, “ is the boy.” 
She put her hand on Peter Prayle’s shoulder, 
and pushed him toward the table. 

“ How de do, Peter? ” said Mr. Hammer with 
a half-official, half-friendly nod. “ Here’s a gen- 
tleman come to see you.” 

Peter was surprised. 

“ How de do, sir?” he said. 

The mole-man lifted his eyelids with an ob- 
vious effort, and gazed into the boy’s face out 




8 

Partners for Fair 


of a pair of eyes that somehow made Peter 
shiver. They were so small and shallow and 
mean-looking. 

“ How old is he ? ” snuffled the mole-man then, 
turning his long nose on Mr. Hammer. 

Mr. Hammer consulted the ledger that lay 
open before him. 

“ Nigh thirteen,” he answered. 

“ Any livin’ relations?” asked the mole-man, 
with another snuffle. 

“ Nope,” answered Mr. Hammer unofficially. 
“ None to our knowledge. But he comes of 
pretty good stock. Father was John Prayle, the 
horseman, owned the big stock-farm out Holly- 
hill way. You must ’a’ knowed him. Ruined 
himself on the races, and then drank himself to 
death. That was three years ago.” 

“ The mother was a high-stepper,” supple- 
mented Mrs. Hammer. “ Philadelphia girl, they 
say. Quarreled with her family to marry Prayle, 
— was cast off by ’em, — and died of consump- 
tion a year before he did. They’d met at Sara- 
toga, I believe, — and John always did have a way 
with him ! Sheriff sold up the place ; nobody came 


Peter Prayle and Peter Piper 9 

forward to claim the boy; — though there’s rela- 
tions of the mother in California, I believe, 
so ” 

“ Can he work ? ” The mole-man’s long nose 
pointed Peter at the end of the question. “ It’s 
more than his father could.” 

“ Well,” said Hammer noncommittally, “ he 
can when he wants to.” 

“ He’s the best boy on the place,” — Mrs. Ham- 
mer spoke with decision, — “ because he’s got 
brains! You’d better take him.” 

The mole-man scratched the end of his long 
nose doubtfully. “ I guess I had,” he agreed, at 
last. “ Get the papers made out, and I’ll come 
for him termorrer about eleven.” 

Then Peter Prayle, who had kept his eyes 
steady and his head high, during this strange in- 
terview, turned from white to red. 

“ Can — can I bring my dog ? ” he asked. And 
his hand was on Peter Piper’s collar. 

“ Dog ? ” snuffled the mole-man. “ Dogs eat 
too much ! ” 

This was a joke — so both Mr. and Mrs. Ham- 
mer laughed. 




IO 

Partners for Fair 


“ But,” persisted Peter, “ we’re partners, — 
him and me, you see.” 

But nobody heard, because Mr. and Mrs. 
Hammer were saying good-by to the mole- 
man. 

“ He’ll suit yer,” Mr. Hammer predicted cheer- 
fully. “ He’s a likely lad. Everybody takes to 
Peter.” 

“ I’ll have the papers ready,” promised Mrs. 
Hammer, who carried on most of the business of 
the institution. “ You’ll not want that dog 
round. We were just goin’ to get rid of it our- 
selves.” (Then she had come into the barn in 
time to see the curtain act of the circus!) “ As 
for the boy — all he needs is the right kind of 
managing.” 

“ Schoolin’ and keep till he’s eighteen,” 
snuffled the mole-man, “ but no wages.” 

They went out of the dusty little office, and 
Peter Prayle and Peter Piper were left alone. 

The dog looked up into the boy’s troubled face, 
wagging a slow tail. 

“ She heard us, Piper,” said Peter Prayle. 
“ She heard us, sure ! But ” It was dark 


Peter Prayle and Peter Piper n 

now in the little room. He was on the floor, his 
arms about the dog’s neck, — “ They can’t do it, 
old feller ! They can’t ! For we’re partners, you 
and me, — partners for fair ! ” 

And Peter Piper again wagged his tail. 


CHAPTER II 


PETER’S PROSPECTS 

TXT'ORD had got about that Peter Prayle 
was to be “ bound out.” No one knew 
just how the first whisper had started; but the 
news buzzed from lip to lip down the long refec- 
tory table. Everybody had something to say 
about it, and everybody was more or less sorry, 
except perhaps old Betsy Grudge, with her gray 
woolen shawl and red, swollen rheumatic fingers. 

Poor old Betsy! She couldn’t be truly sorry 
over anything; because, you see, she believed her- 
self to be an angel! When she sat beside the 
air-tight stove, busy with her bone knitting- 
needles, she believed the squeaky rocker on which 
she sat was a golden throne, and the gray shawl 
she was eternally knitting a glorified shimmering 
garment. She believed all about her, from Mrs. 
Hammer down to little Hen Robinson, the half- 
orphan colored boy, were angels, too; and that 
the County House itself was heaven! So what- 


12 




Peter’s Prospects 

13 


ever might happen, no one heard Betsy grumble 
or complain. 

“ It’s old Benjamin Bergman, from out Holly- 
hill way, same part of the county Peter’s own 
folks come from,” wheezed Uncle Sammy, into 
his pea-soup, — pea-soup cooked with a ham-bone, 
mind you! The soup would have furnished ex- 
citement enough of itself, any other evening; but 
to-night with the unexpected news about Peter, 
they scarcely noticed it. “ I seen him drive out. 
If the sun had been a-shinin’ ’twould a-took 
three o’ his hosses to make a shadder. He’s a 
corkscrew fer yer ! ” 

Kate, the bunchy girl who had tumbled off the 
ladder, sniffled. “What’s a corkscrew?” she 
wanted to know. 

She was trying to make up her mind whether 
she really did feel too unhappy over the news 
about Peter to eat the pea-soup. They might not 
have it again till Fourth of July; and besides 
Mrs. Hammer had been known to push a little 
girl’s face right down into the bowl, if she “ got 
the notion o’ bein’ too stuck-up to eat what was 
set before her.” 




14 

Partners for Fair 


“ What’s a corkscrew ? ” sniffled Kate again. 

“ A corkscrew,” expounded Uncle Sammy, “ is 
this here instrument that pulls the corks out o’ 
yer bottles, — beer bottles, or medicine bottles, or 
t’ilet bottles, — w’ich ever is w’ich. And sets ’em 
aside and saves ’em. And if yer was dyin’ fer 
a sip o’ cold water, — yer could up and die! 
That’s what a corkscrew be.” 

“ Here he comes ! ” piped little Hen Robinson, 
on the opposite side of the table. “ Here comes 
Peter!” 

It was so they sat: the men and boys on one 
side of the table, with Uncle Sammy at the foot ; 
the girls and women on the other side, headed by 
Mrs. Grudge. There was an unshaded kero- 
sene lamp in a wall bracket at either end of 
the room, an air-tight stove near the door, un- 
comfortably red-hot this evening with a roaring 
wood fire; long bare windows which the April 
storm shook and rattled in beating gusts, — and 
a table full of people, with arrested spoons, all 
staring toward the door. In the smoky, uneven 
lamp-flame, they were an oddly assorted com- 
pany. 




Peter’s Prospects 

15 


But for all their oddity, — bent, crippled, 
shabby, the waifs and strays of fortune — they 
were the people whom Peter Prayle had lived 
among and come to love ever since he had been 
ushered into the refectory, a nine-year-old, white- 
faced sprig of a boy, with a three-months’ yellow- 
curled puppy in his arms, on just such a blus- 
tery April night, three years to a day, and bidden 
to take the empty chair at the right hand of 
Uncle Sammy. Mrs. Hammer herself had 
pushed him into the chair, and put her heavy 
hand on his shoulder and said : — “ Now,, eat your 
supper, boy.” Oddly enough, there had been pea- 
soup that night, too ; and everybody had sat with 
their spoons poised above their bowls, and stared 
at Peter. The repetition made it seem like a 
dream. Peter Prayle blinked as he took his ac- 
customed seat, and began to eat his pea-soup. 

“ Peter,” said Uncle Sammy, after a more or 
less audible pause, (most of them were busy with 
the pea-soup again,) “ Peter, I hear you’re gwine 
to leave us ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Peter, “ I guess I am.” 

“ Glory be!” interjected old Betsy, from her 




16 

Partners for Fair 


end of the table. “ You didn’t ought to go, 
honey. Once yer git to heaven, stay there’s 
my advice. ’Tain’t every boy as kin git in, — 
nor all dogs, neither.” 

Peter Piper was lying under Peter Prayle’s 
chair. When he heard old Betsy make this flat- 
tering allusion to dogs, he looked up and slowly 
thumped his feathery tail. 

“How ’bout Piper?” Hen Robinson wanted 
to know. “ Gwine to take him, Peter? ” 

For a moment Peter did not answer. Then, 
“ I guess I am,” he said. 

Uncle Sammy, looking quickly about, dropped 
a crust of dry bread to the floor. A yellow, 
feathery paw shot out from under Peter’s chair. 
The crust was drawn silently in. 

“ That’s the dog-gone smartest dog ! ” opined 
Uncle Sammy, apparently apropos of nothing. 
“ You’ve taught him some smart tricks, too, 
Peter.” 

A subdued chuckle ran round the table. 

“ Say ” began Hen Robinson. 

The swing-door leading from the refectory 
to the kitchen opened; Mrs. Hammer, followed 




Peter’s Prospects 

17 


by a stout, red- faced orphan girl, bearing an 
empty tray, entered. 

“ Supper’s over,” announced Mrs. Hammer. 

Everybody stood up, and the orphan girl be- 
gan piling the empty bowls on the empty tray. 
“ Peter,” said Mrs. Hammer, “ go to my sittin’- 
room. I want to talk to you.” 

" Owf wow! ” blubbered Kate, the bunchy 
girl, quite suddenly assailed and overcome by too 
long suppressed emotion. “ Don’, don’ you do it, 
Peter!” 

A moment of stricken silence followed. Peo- 
ple stared at each other with white, smitten 
faces. 

Then Mrs. Hammer turned on Kate. “ Go to 
bed,” she commanded. “ I’ll ’tend to you to- 
morrow.” Sobbing into her brown-checked pina- 
fore, Kate shuffled heavy-footed from the room. 

Mrs. Hammer laid her great hand on Peter’s 
shoulder. “ Come,” she said. The others might 
linger in the warm and lighted refectory till half- 
past eight, when a bell would ring for dismissal. 
A buzz of excited speculation and comment 
broke out, as the two Peters, entirely subdysd 




18 

Partners for Fair 


and silent, followed Mrs. Hammer through the 
door. 

What would be the outcome? 

Through the wooden gallery, the summer rain 
beating softly now on the low roof, Mrs. Ham- 
mer led the culprit pair. Not a word was spoken 
till Mrs. Hammer, having entered her private 
sitting-room on the ground-floor of the main 
building, lighted a kerosene lamp with a yellow 
paper shade, and set it on the table. 

The sitting-room was a pleasant room with 
a bright carpet on the floor, white muslin 
curtains in the windows, pink geraniums 
blooming in red pots between the curtains, and 
a canary bird in a gilded cage asleep on his perch, 
his head tucked under his wing, hanging above 
the geraniums. 

“ Well, Peter,” began Mrs. Hammer, quite 
agreeably, seating herself in a low rocker, and 
pulling a basket of Mr. Hammer’s socks which 
needed darning before her on the table. “ I’m 
sorry you’re going to leave us.” 

Peter remained discreetly silent. 

Mrs. Hammer rocked and darned a bit. She 




Peter’s Prospects 

19 


was almost pleasant-looking as she sat there, 
adjusting a hole in the heel of one of Mr. Ham- 
mer’s socks, over the dried Chinese gourd which 
she used for a darning-ball, the yellow light cast 
by the paper lamp-shade softening the hard lines 
of her big, capable face. She was a strange 
woman, and in her strange way was rather fond 
of Peter. Indeed, if the real truth were known, 
Mrs. Hammer was unconsciously fond of all the 
queer, querulous, irritating, and irritable irre- 
sponsibles committed to her tyrannic charge, — 
though neither she nor they suspected it. 

Having adjusted the heel to her satisfaction 
Mrs. Hammer again looked at Peter. 

“ What do you remember about your folks, 
boy ? ” she asked him. 

Peter flushed and gulped. 

“ I remember — my mother,” he answered. 

Mrs. Hammer remembered, too: — beautiful, 
imperious, sensitive, the girl bride whom John 
Prayle had brought to the shabby brick farm- 
house, “ out Hollyhill way,” when the Prayle 
fortunes were already on the decline, and John 
hardly the man to retrieve them. It had been a 



20 

Partners for Fair 



runaway match. From the first people had been 
sorry for Elizabeth Prayle, guessing better what 
lay before her than she could foresee. For gen- 
erations the Prayles had been counted first among 
the aristocrats of Judson County, yet steadily 
declining in fortune and in public favor. John 
Prayle’s grandfather had raised and raced horses ; 
John Prayle’s father had followed in his foot- 
steps; John Prayle himself, careless, debonair, 
under the burden of debts, had carried on the 
family tradition. Always he had believed in 
“ the lucky turn of the wheel,” bit by bit his 
heavily mortgaged acres had slipped through his 
spendthrift fingers. At first, his young wife had 
believed and laughed with him. When she could 
no longer believe, she no longer laughed : but 
neither did she complain. She coughed for a 
year or two, lost her beauty, and died. Then 
John Prayle went all to pieces. Peter, already 
orphaned, wandered neglected and solitary on the 
big place. One night his father, returning late 
from town, was thrown into a ditch by his horse. 
The next day he died. There was no estate. 
Nobody came forward to claim the last of the 




Peter’s Prospects 

21 


Prayles, who, slim as a willow wand, with the 
proud eyes of his mother and the easy grace of 
his father, stood up before the board of magis- 
trates — and was committed to the County Poor 
House. It seemed a pity, everybody had agreed. 
But what was to be done? 

Mr. Hammer had “ fetched ” Peter in his 
buggy; Mrs. Hammer had received him at the 
door. As the boy was about to enter, it was dis- 
covered he had a yellow puppy hid under his 
ragged jacket. This puppy was the whole of his 
patrimony. 

It had not taken as long to remember these 
things as it has to tell them. 

“ Yes/’ agreed Mrs. Hammer, reflectively re- 
threading her needle. “ Your mother was a high- 
stepper, too good for her neighbors, she thought. 
Played the pianer, talked I-talian, and sang! 
Much good it did her. There were two children, 
a boy and a girl, brought up by two maiden aunts 
in Germantown. The boy married, — and after 
your mother married, too, the ladies moved to 
California. So far as I know they’re the only 
folks you’ve got ; for your uncle died before your 




22 

Partners for Fair 


mother did. But that don’t matter. A boy can 
make himself by himself, if he’s the right stuff. 
And we’re giving you the chance.” 

Then Mrs. Hammer went on to explain what 
would be expected of Peter by old Bergman. 
There was nothing new or startling in the dis- 
closure. It was according to the tradition of 
the institution. When an orphan boy or girl 
reached twelve or thirteen years of age, it was 
customary to “ bind him out ” to some farmer in 
the neighborhood. He was given schooling and 
a home in exchange for such work as was sup- 
posed not to be too heavy for him. His guardian 
assumed the responsibility and the authority of a 
parent : — at eighteen years of age a new contract 
was entered into, by which the boy might leave 
the place, if he pleased, or stay and receive 
wages. This custom relieved the county of the 
expense of the orphans’ “ keep,” and in some 
cases ended in adoption. In other cases it was 
the cloak for much mean tyranny. A great deal 
depended on the character of the child, a great 
deal on the character of the guardian. Benjamin 
Bergman had the reputation of being a “ screw.” 




Peter’s Prospects 

23 


His wife was as sour-faced as himself, but they 
were people of ample means, and considerable 
public importance. 

“ He’s a hard man, but he won’t abuse you,” 
Mrs. Hammer concluded, snipping short the 
thread of gray darning-cotton with an aggressive 
snap of her big scissors. “ It’s prospects a boy 
in your situation ought to be thankful for. As 
fer that dog, — you’re better off without him. He 
makes you saucy. I’d promised him to the butch- 
er’s boy, anyway.” 


CHAPTER III 


FIRE! FIRE! 

N ow the butcher’s boy was a high boy, with 
flaring ears and a bludgeon of a fist. From 
his general cut and make-up you would scarcely 
have suspected the fist; but he had knocked Peter 
Prayle down with it, — and that was the way 
Peter knew. 

It had been on a Saturday afternoon in early 
June the preceding year; and Mrs. Hammer had 
intrusted Peter to go to the village to get a letter 
for her. If Peter had not gone, Mrs. Hammer 
would have had to wait till Monday for the letter. 
It was from her son, who lived in Chicago, and 
was planning a vacation visit to his mother. 

Peter, very happy, with Peter Piper at his 
heels, had whistled his way through the green 
lanes, and along the sunny highroad to the vil- 
lage. Robins called in the lanes, and an occa- 
sional squirrel frisked across the highroad. There 
was a bridge to be crossed, where, standing 
*4 




Fire! Fire! 

25 


and looking down over the rustic railing, you 
could spy silver darting minnows flashing in the 
amber hurry of the waters. Further along in a 
ditch Peter Piper had found a snake. He had 
barked shrilly, wagged his tail, and leapt after it, 
through the tall grass. Peter Prayle, following, 
had killed the snake with a stone. Then he had 
sat down on the bank and skinned it. It was sel- 
dom that either boy or dog was accorded so 
much liberty. The occasion in the eyes of both 
had all the aspects of a holiday! 

Peter Prayle, having finally asked for and ob- 
tained the letter at the village post-office, turned 
for home. It was then, from the door of the 
butcher-shop, that he was accosted by the butch- 
er’s boy, lolling idly: — 

“ Hi ! poor ’ouse ! Poor ’ouse ! ” the butcher’s 
boy had called. 

Peter Prayle stopped and flushed darkly. 

“ Poor ’ouse! Poor ’ouse!” jibed the butch- 
er’s boy. He had a freckled face on top of a 
bean-pole of a body, with ears that stood out 
like the handles of a jug. 

“ Poor house, yourself ! ” retorted Peter 




26 

Partners for Fair 


Prayle, angrily. He picked up a stone and flung 
it at the butcher’s boy. 

The butcher’s boy leaped out into the road, 
doubled his fists, and pranced. “ Come on, 
then ! ” he challenged. “ Poor ’ouse ! Porper ! 
Come on ! ” 

And Peter had come on, and had encountered 
the bludgeon of a fist, and with blood from his 
nose staining the precious letter, had been ig- 
nominiously returned to Mrs. Hammer by a 
neighboring farmer’s wife, inconveniently pass- 
ing in her buggy. 

All this had happened nearly a year ago. But 
Peter Prayle, sitting on the edge of his narrow, 
iron, dormitory cot, did not feel very happy as he 
remembered. 

“ Piper, old chap,” he said. 

Peter Piper, crawling out from under the cot, 
laid his nose on his master’s knee, and looked 
up into his master’s face, and slowly wagged 
his tail. 

It would have been useless to tell Peter Prayle 
that Peter Piper did not understand. 

“ We’re partners, old chap,” was all, however, 


Fire! Fire! 


27 


that Peter could say; for the big gong had 
sounded at the foot of the narrow wooden stairs, 
and reverberated along the narrow hall that sepa- 
rated the dormitories. Peter Prayle hurriedly 
finished undressing and crawled into his cot; 
while Peter Piper crawled under it. It 
was so they had slept for the last three 
years. 

Presently, Mr. Hammer passed light-footed 
between the two rows of cots, put out the lamp 
at the far end of the dormitory, and joined his 
wife, who had made a similar jaunt through the 
opposite dormitory where the girls and women 
slept, on the little landing at the head of the 
narrow stairs. Having seen their charges quiet 
in bed, their duties over for the night, Mr. and 
Mrs. Hammer might now go down and engage in 
a rubber of cribbage in the pleasant comfort of 
their private sitting-room. 

Snores and heavy breathing filled the dormi- 
tory. But Peter Prayle, his head on his hard 
pillow, was not asleep. He was still remember- 
ing, — and all about Peter Piper! 

Most boys love their dogs, I suppose; but it 




28 

Partners for Fair 


had not been just that between Peter Prayle and 
Peter Piper. Somehow, they had seemed to be- 
long to each other ! 

You see, it had been very lonely in the big 
brick farmhouse after Peter’s mother had died. 
The great somber high-ceilinged chambers had 
been quite empty and silent, except when a rat 
scuttled in the surbase. A thick coating of dust 
had gradually settled on the tables, on the books 
on the tables, and on Peter’s mother’s unused 
piano. The pink worsted roses on the cushion 
cover her listless fingers had left forgotten and 
unfinished in her work-basket by her low chair, 
faded day by day. There was nobody to play 
with, nobody to tell secrets to, — till Peter Piper 
came! For fat Aunt Mandy, busy in the kitchen, 
and lean rheumatic Uncle Rufe, pottering in his 
garden, his short clay pipe between his ragged 
teeth, had not much time for little boys. The 
aged couple had been servants on the place since 
Peter was a baby. Now, the last remnant of 
Prayle family dignity lay in their incompetent 
hands. They were supposed to work the farm 
and look after Peter and his father; to the best 


Fire! Fire! 


29 


of their incapacity they fulfilled these duties. 
But in the matter of companionship they lacked 
charm. 

So when Diana, Uncle Rufus’s gracious, but 
entirely unclassifiable hunting dog, started house- 
keeping with a litter of seven plump, honey- 
colored puppies in a nest of straw in a corner of 
an empty box-stall, you can perhaps imagine 
what it meant to the solitary boy! 

All the puppies were delightful. They slob- 
bered, squeaked, wagged their absurd littl^ tails, 
and tumbled over one another to get to Peter. 
They were ready for all kinds of frolics and all 
kinds of mischief. To the casual observer there 
would have been little to choose among them. 
But Peter Prayle had marked a difference from 
the very beginning. Who opened his eyes before 
any of his fellows? Who tumbled first out of 
the box-stall? Who staggered half-way across 
the stable-yard to greet Peter? Who learned to 
swim when accidentally pushed into the water- 
ing trough by his frolicking brothers, instead of 
helplessly drowning, — as those brothers would 
have done, be sure ! Who rolled over, and 




30 

Partners for Fair 


solemnly over again, at the word of command? 
Who stood up, on his ridiculously soft puppy 
hind legs, untaught and unbidden, to beg for a 
mutton bone? 

There could be no doubt about it ! All the pup- 
pies were nice puppies; but, from the very be- 
ginning, Peter Piper was a remarkable puppy, 
and Peter Prayle’s chosen companion and chum. 
They had never been obliged to tell each other 
things: they had just understood. And it was 
the soft, unsuspected wriggling warmth of Peter 
Piper, hid beneath Peter Prayle’s ragged jacket, 
that had kept the boy’s head high and his cour- 
age steady on that strange occasion, when he had 
been led before the Board of Magistrates, and 
definitely informed that he was, in legal phrase, 
“ an orphan,” and a “ County charge.” 

“ A pup ! ” Mrs. Hammer had exclaimed, on 
the threshold of the County House that same 
evening, (the softest of wriggles could not escape 
her eagle eye!) “ you can’t keep it here!” Yet 
despite periodic threats, mutual escapades, and 
mutual punishments, Peter Prayle had kept 
Peter Piper, through three vicissitudinous, com- 


Fire! Fire! 


3i 


panionable years! Now, indeed, it seemed as if 
the last hours of companionship had come! 

For suddenly the butcher’s boy leaned leer- 
ingly over Peter Prayle’s bed. His jug-handle 
ears flared worse than ever. He had a basket 
on his arm, and Peter Piper’s distracted puppy 
yelps, (magically he had shrunk back into puppy- 
hood again,) could be heard explosively inside 
the basket. Tears forced themselves between 
Peter Prayle’s closed eyelids. It was a dream — 
but what a dream ! 

Meantime, Peter Piper, under the bed, was 
dreaming, too. His sleep was restless and trou- 
bled. You need not tell me that he did not sus- 
pect disaster, warned by some strange sympathy 
with his master’s mood. Ever since the after- 
noon’s suddenly interrupted prank in the barn, 
he had followed Peter Prayle like a shadow. 
Now, flat under the cot, his nose upon his 
paws, he slept, — and whined and started in his 
sleep. 

He was out in the woods with Peter Prayle 
on the scent of some strange beast, — that smelled 
differently from any other beast he had ever pur- 




32 

Partners for Fair 


sued. The scent grew hotter and heavier. The 
underbrush crackled and rustled . . . 

Peter Piper waked with a start. The strange 
scent of the strange beast was more acrid, more 
pervasive. Peter Piper crawled out from under 
the cot. A gray mist filled the room. The 
rustle and the crackle of something mysteriously 
stirring sounded in the landing without. 

Peter Piper put his forepaws on the edge of 
Peter Prayle’s cot, and woke his master with 
a sharp, sudden bark. 

“ Down, Piper ! ” Peter Prayle sat up in bed. 
“ Down, sir! ” 

Then he coughed and blinked. The acrid 
smell was in his nostrils. The stealthy, mys- 
terious rustle of the advancing beast in the hall 
caught his ear. Suddenly the red tongue of the 
beast curled and licked through the half-open 
dormitory door. 

“Fire! Fire!” screamed Peter Prayle, and 
sprang out of bed and to his clothes. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE WAY OUT 

/ “J“ V HE dormitory was full of smoke. Panic 
and confusion reigned. At Peter’s outcry 
the other boys and men had wakened. Fantastic 
figures rushed here and there, performing fan- 
tastic antics in the gray choking clouds of smoke. 
Some one had flung wide the half-open dormi- 
tory door. The wooden landing at the head of 
the stairs was a surging sea of fire. A swirling, 
leaping tide of flame swept up the narrow, 
crooked stairway. Little tongues of flame crept 
and licked along the hall, breaking out here and 
there about the surbase and near the ceiling. 

A shriek rang from the women’s dormitory 
on the other side of the hall. “ Fire! fire! ” It 
was old Betsy Grudge. Her voice was shriller 
and higher than you would have thought a wom- 
an’s voice could be. A confused murmur of 
sobs and ejaculations followed. 

Uncle Sammy, his thin old legs tottering and 
33 




34 

Partners for Fair 


meager under the load, had rolled his straw mat- 
tress and blanket together. He staggered to the 
window with them; wrenched up the sash; and 
shot the bundle out into the night. Mr. Hammer, 
standing in his nightshirt in the garden, shouting 
and gesticulating at the heads that lined the win- 
dows, was struck amidships, and flattened out in 
the petunia bed. Somebody flung a fiddle after 
the mattress; and somebody else, a broken jug. 
It struck Mr. Hammer above the eye as he was 
about to rise. Mrs. Hammer, tramping the 
petunias, shook her fist and shouted manlike com- 
mands. She had on a man’s overcoat and felt 
slippers. The grounds were full of scurrying, 
rabbit-like figures. The old gardener came run- 
ning from his cottage at the back of the barn. 
He dragged a ladder. Some one was blowing 
loudly on the dinner-horn to rouse the neighbor- 
hood. At a fire there always is a crowd! Al- 
ready the farmers were gathering ; racing in bug- 
gies, or flung bareback on a galloping horse. 

Under Mrs. Hammer’s directions a bucket- 
brigade was being formed; but it would take 
more than buckets to put out this blaze. With 




The Way Out 

35 


a crash, a roar of escaping flames, and a volley 
of flying sparks the roof above the landing caved 
in. 

Groans and cries followed. The ladder was 
being set up against the side of the house, under 
the windows of the women’s dormitory. They 
were going to try to bring the women down. 

The men’s dormitory was by this time so 
choking full of stifling, scorching smoke you 
could scarcely breathe, — except with your hands 
over your mouth and eyes. Hen Robinson 
sprang up on the window-sill and hung perilously 
out. 

“ They caynt make it,” he shouted to the rest- 
less, pushing crowd about the window. “ Lad- 
der’s too short ! ” 

But they could make it. They did! 

Mrs. Hammer, elbowing her way through the 
men, scattering them on either side, mounted the 
ladder. Standing on the upper rungs, she was 
probably three feet short of the window. 

“ Throw a rope ! ” she commanded. 

A rope was thrown: — once — twice. Then a 
pair of snatching, panic-stricken hands above 




36 

Partners for Fair 


caught it, — and made it fast. One by one, under 
Mrs. Hammer’s stentorian, steady commands, the 
young orphan girls and feeble old women let 
themselves down the short length of rope to the 
top of the ladder, where they were caught by 
Mrs. Hammer, and passed to the cheering crowd 
below. 

The air in the men’s dormitory was now so 
hot that it scorched and sizzled, seeming as if 
it must break momentarily into a blaze of flame. 
The door leading into the hall burned merrily. 
Little jets of flame broke out here and there along 
the floor and above near the ceiling. 

“ ’Pears like they ain’t cornin’ arter us ! ” 
whimpered Uncle Sammy in the restless, breath- 
less crowd about the window. 

“ It’s too hot for me to wait ! ” piped Hen 
Robinson. “ Here goes ! ” Agile as a monkey, 
he swung himself over the sill, hung for a mo- 
ment by the hands — and dropped. 

A cheer greeted his safe descent. Then an- 
other boy jumped, launching himself out into the 
night; and Uncle Sammy, — who did not rise, but 
lay in a crumpled heap on the lawn. 


The Way Out 


37 


Meanwhile, Peter Prayle laced his last boot. 
As he got to his feet, the burning heat of the floor 
scorched and singed through the soles. While the 
others had scurried and dodged; had collected 
their queer, pitiable belongings ; had run from the 
window to the door and back again to the win- 
dow; he had sat quietly on the side of his cot, put- 
ting on his clothes. He had buttoned every but- 
ton, and fastened every brace. That was his 
way of taking it! Somehow, it seemed quite 
natural to him, (now it had happened,) that the 
dormitory should be afire, and no reason why one 
should not put on one’s clothes properly! Peter 
Piper, his nose pressed hard on the cot, looked up 
into his master’s face. Now and again he shiv- 
ered, whimpered, and shifted his feet on the hot 
floor. But he would not have thought of escape, 
till his master did! 

“ Come, Piper ! ” Peter Prayle was on 
his feet; choking, shading his eyes with his 
sleeve. 

At the same moment a deafening crash re- 
sounded. Flames leapt on every side. A blast- 
ing furnace swept about the two. Then 




38 

Partners for Fair 


blackness ! A dizzy clutching fall, through 
wells of blackness. The floor had given 
way! 

The next thing Peter knew was that he was 
still alive. He could be sure of this because of 
the stinging pain in his left elbow; and the op- 
pressive weight that rested on his chest, making 
every breath a labor. Yes . . .he was alive. 
For a few moments he lay quite still with his 
eyes shut. He did not think he could be going 
to stay alive : and he did not want to open his 
eyes. But the weight on his chest grew more op- 
pressive. He shifted his position as well as he 
could. A familiar whimper sounded in his ears. 
A familiar tongue slobbered his face. Then Peter 
Prayle opened his eyes, — and looked up into the 
eyes of Peter Piper ! 

“ We're — partners, old chap!” said Peter 
Prayle, feebly. The dim form of Peter Piper 
wagged its tail. It was standing over Peter 
Prayle, its forepaws on the beam that rested on 
Peter’s chest, pinning him down. There was a 
smoky dimness all about them ; but no fire, though 
the rush of flames could still be heard above, the 


The Way Out 


39 


crackle of sparks, and an occasional crash of 
timbers. 

When the floor had given way Peter Prayle and 
Peter Piper had fallen clear through to the cel- 
lar. Smoking ruins were about them; but mo- 
mentarily they were safe. 

The shadowy form of Peter Piper wagged its 
tail and whimpered again. 

“ Come, master ! ” the whimper seemed to say. 

Peter Prayle put up his free arm and stroked 
Peter Piper’s ear. The movement reassured him. 
If he tried, he might be able to wriggle out from 
under the imprisoning beam. Very gingerly he 
made the effort. Peter Piper barked a short, 
quick bark of approval. 

Peter Prayle wriggled some more. He had re- 
covered his senses by this time, and realized that 
he was unhurt, except for an occasional dizziness, 
caused by the stinging pain in his elbow. 

Gradually, the outlines of the cellar assumed 
definite form. Peter Prayle now understood 
that it was the beam over his chest and another 
beam beyond, the upper ends of which had 
crashed through a little square window directly 




40 

Partners for Fair 


above his head that had saved him and Peter 
Piper. The two beams made a sort of shelter, 
which protected them from the mass of other 
debris. If they had fallen a little further over, 
they would have been smothered beneath a heap 
of smoking ruins. Through the dim outlines of 
the shattered window the gray morning light fell 
obscurely. Through the same window floated the 
commanding tones of Mrs. Hammer. 

“ Where is Peter Prayle? ” she was inquiring. 
“Has any one seen Peter? He might just as 
well go ’long with Bergman now. We’ll fix the 
papers later. It’ll be one responsibility off our 
hands.” 

A murmur of confused response followed. 
No one could advance any definite information 
regarding the two Peters. 

“ Burned up,” opined a hoarse, speculative 
voice which Peter recognized — the voice of the 
butcher’s boy with juglike ears. “ He didn’t 
jump. I was a-countin’ ’em.” 

By this time Peter was free of the beam. He 
caught Peter Piper by the collar and laid a hush- 
ing hand on his muzzle. “ We’re going to get 




The Way Out 

41 


out of here, old chap,” he whispered. “ But we 
ain’t going with Bergman ! ” 

The two crouched together, quiet, breathless, 
till voices and feet had retreated. Then Peter 
Prayle crawled up the beam to the little window 
to reconnoiter, and Peter Piper, whimpering a 
bit, followed. 

The window opened on the kitchen-garden on 
the south side of the County House, and the 
garden ran down to an old apple orchard where 
a little brook marked the southern boundary 
of the County property. The garden, which 
had been promising enough with green young 
shooting things the day before, lay trampled, 
blackened, and destroyed. A row of blos- 
soming cherry trees standing near the house, 
were withered and blasted on the hither side ; but 
the further branches shimmered ghostly white 
and green, giving a queer harlequin appearance of 
unreality. A large rhododendron bush, growing 
close to the window, had been left strangely un- 
singed by the flames, and dripped with morning 
dew and the rain of the previous evening. 

Peter could hear the buzz of the crowd, gath- 




42 

Partners for Fair 


ered on the lawn in front of the house. The fire 
was practically over. At least, no further at- 
tempt would be made to check it. The doomed 
building must simply burn itself out. In a little 
while the crowd would be scattering. 

“ Come on, Piper ! ” whispered Peter Prayle. 
If they were to attempt escape, now was their 
chance ! A moment later, they stood in the gray 
dusk of the early morning garden. 

A crunch of gravel warned them. Quickly 
they dropped and cowered in the dripping 
branches of the sheltering rhododendron. Mrs. 
Hammer and old Bergman were upon them ! 


SSW3 



Then Peter Prayle Crawled Up the Beam to the Little 
Window to Recon noiter. 



CHAPTER V 


THE SECRET CAVE 

t( J DON’T like to think the boy’s lost,” Mrs. 

Hammer was saying, “ and I don’t believe 
he is, either. Somehow, it ain’t like Peter to stay 
and get burned up, when nobody else did. We’ve 
got ’em all safe, except some broken ribs for 
Uncle Sammy, (old fool! he orter ’a’ waited. I 
was coming after him,) and a few burns where 
the orphans would grab onto what they shouldn’t ! 
You’ve got to go? Well — When Peter does 
turn up, I’ll let you know. There’s Hammer 
calling. The man’s got no more head than a 
peacock ! ” 

They passed on. Peter Prayle, a quieting hand 
on Peter Piper’s muzzle, parted the rhododen- 
dron bushes and peered after them. Somehow, 
there was a queer feeling of admiration and re- 
spect for Mrs. Hammer, down in the bottom of 
the boy’s heart, which prompted the desire to 
leave his shelter, — to run after her for a word of 
encouragement and farewell. 


43 




44 

Partners for Fair 


“ We’re goin’ to seek our fortunes, — Piper and 
I,” Peter Prayle wanted, oddly enough, to say. 
“ Won’t you bid us good-by, ma’am, and good 
luck ? ” 

But the impulse could not be indulged. Mrs. 
Hammer was not a pleasant person to argue with. 
Her plans for Peter and Peter’s plans for him- 
self would not have agreed. They had had their 
farewell interview the night before. The gray 
misty morning, freedom to shift for himself, a 
new life, full of the beckoning charm of adven- 
ture, lured the boy as he peered through the drip- 
ping branches of the rhododendron. 

“ Come, Piper ! ” he whispered again. “ Come 
on, old chap ! ” At last, the coast was clear ! The 
two Peters crawled cautiously from under the 
rhododendron bush, and, scudding like rabbits, 
fled across the damp, trampled stretch of kitchen 
garden to the perilously uncertain shelter of the 
apple orchard. Here, behind a tree, they 
crouched again to reconnoiter. 

Peter knew a place to hide, — if he could get 
there ! And the way was yet clear ! 

Dodging from tree to tree, keeping a sharp 


The Secret Cave 


45 


lookout on the landscape, the boy took a zig- 
zag course through the old orchard, — Piper a 
faithful shadow, frisking at his heels. Then 
came an open bit of meadow, and the grassy, 
fern-clad bank of the little brook. Once over this 
bank, there was a better chance for safety. 

From the vantage of the last tree-trunk, a 
gnarled and twisted veteran, Peter took a fare- 
well, backward glance. The fire no longer pro- 
claimed itself against the sky. A blackened, 
smoking ruin, the gutted walls of the County 
House loomed dimly through the mist. Already 
the farmers were scattering. The highroad pre- 
sented a lively appearance of passing vehicles 
and homing groups of horsemen. The rain had 
begun to fall again in a chill persistent drizzle. 
The gray clouds hung low, — with no prospect of 
awakening sun. 

“ Come, Piper ! ” Peter Prayle dropped belly- 
flat to the earth, inching, creeping snakelike, 
across the dripping stretch of meadow. Then, 
having gained the bank, boy and dog slipped hap- 
pily over. It was a high bank, well sheltered 
with willow-brush, and thickly arching fern- 




46 

Partners for Fair 


brake. The little brook, swollen by the spring 
rains, babbled and rushed between the willows. 

Peter sat down on the bank, and began to un- 
lace his boots. Then he chuckled. The right 
boot was on the left foot, and vice versa. He 
had prided himself on dressing with particular 
care, while the others, panic-stricken, had scur- 
ried witlessly. Well, the mistake with the boots 
was his one mistake. Pretty well done, — with a 
furnace for a dressing-room! The boy stepped 
into the stream and whistled for Peter Piper to 
follow. 

Running water leaves no trail ! It was an old 
trick with the two. If suspicion should be 
aroused, and they should be followed, all trace of 
flight would end here. 

For near an hour the two Peters splashed up- 
stream; keeping as well to the shallows as they 
could, but plunging occasionally into an unsus- 
pected trout-hole or dashing eddy. Once or 
twice, Piper lost his legs, and was forced to swim 
for it, casting longing glances toward the bank; 
but his master held him sternly to the stream; 
and the rain fell; and the wind blew; — and alto- 




The Secret Cave 

47 


gether running away was not proving a very de- 
lightful experience! 

At last, blue-lipped and shivering, at a curve in 
the bank where great willow trees overhung the 
darkened waters and the fern-brake clustered 
heavily, Peter Prayle turned; and Peter Piper, 
uttering a sharp, rebellious bark, dashed ahead — 
and disappeared ! There was a momentary trem- 
ble of the fern-brake. The dog had vanished ! 

“ It’s better than ever ! ” muttered Peter 
Prayle, wading in. He ducked beneath a drip- 
ping willow-bough and vanished, too. 

He had gained the secret hiding-place for 
which he had started, — a cave or washout which 
was known only to himself and Peter Piper. It 
was their castle; their hidden home of refuge. 

Many happy hours had the two passed here, 
when let off for an occasional half-holiday by 
Mrs. Hammer. She had always trusted Peter 
above the other boys, and granted him a larger 
liberty. “You’ll be back by sundown?” she 
would ask. “ Yes,” Peter would promise. “ All 
right, then. You can go.” 

It was on one of these happy expeditions that 




48 

Partners for Fair 


the two Peters found the cave. It was really 
Peter Piper who had found it, in hot pursuit of 
an escaping muskrat. Guided by his excited 
barks, Peter Prayle had followed, — instantly 
recognizing the merits and possibilities of the 
place. 

After that first visit, they had returned as often 
as they could, always taking the water-trail; al- 
ways carefully regardful of their secret. They 
had dug, and repaired, and builded with 
branches, fashioning a cozy interior. It was here 
Peter Prayle had hidden his store of winter nuts. 
It was here he had taught Peter Piper the most 
of those clever tricks, which, in the end, were to 
prove their undoing; and now, here it was that 
boy and dog sank, exhausted and shivering, on the 
bed of dead leaves and dried fern-branches they 
had made for themselves, snuggling as close as 
they could for warmth, — and presently fell asleep. 

When they awoke again, it was darker than 
ever in the cave. Somehow, they had managed 
to shiver themselves warm. But they were very 
hungry. Peter Prayle remembered his store of 
nuts. Every coubby-hole and secret corner of the 




The Secret Cave 

49 


place was so well known to him that he had no 
difficulty finding it, even in the dark. 

“ I guess we’ll need a stone to crack ’em with,” 
he thought, and crawled to the mouth of the 
cave. 

It was still raining. The willows shivered and 
shimmered in the fine, driving mist. Peter 
ducked under the dripping branches and collected 
a couple of stones from the stream. Then he 
returned to the cave, seated himself on the bed 
of leaves, and cracked walnuts for himself and 
Peter Piper. 

Black walnuts do not make a particularly sub- 
stantial meal, if one is really hungry; but Peter 
divided fair, and Piper accepted his share po- 
litely. Though it was not what he would have 
chosen to eat, he felt it was the best his master 
could do. 

When they had finished eating they went to the 
mouth of the cave again and stared out. The 
rain drove, gray and piercing, through the mask- 
ing willows and along the wet bank of the stream. 
“ We’ll rest till to-morrow, Piper,” Peter said. 
“ Then we’ll have to start. We’re partners, old 




So 

Partners for Fair 


chap, you and me, — and we’re going to Califor- 
nia, to find our relations ! ” 

Peter Piper did not laugh. That is one of the 
best things about having a dog for a chum. You 
may tell him your most impossibly cherished 
secret hopes and ambitions; he will not discour- 
age you; he will not scoff. So, Peter Piper 
wagged a slow tail, and looked confidently up 
into the face of Peter Prayle. 

Then the two snuggled down again into the bed 
of leaves. When Peter Prayle next awoke it was 
to the low warning growl of Peter Piper. The 
dog was all a-bristle, his eyes staring at the gray 
mouth of the cave, through which floated a 
strange and delicious fragrance, — the fragrance 
of boiling coffee ! 


CHAPTER VI 


A FISH BREAKFAST 

TJEERING through the glistening, shimmer- 
ing willow branches the two Peters saw: — 
Three men seated around a little fire by the 
side of the brook. They were ugly, heavy-look- 
ing men, with coarse, sordid faces, and ragged 
clothes. One of them had a full red beard. He 
was almost a giant in stature, and was leaning 
over the fire, about to remove a battered tomato- 
can, from which floated the delicious aroma of 
boiling coffee. Ah! Peter Prayle sniffed and 
sniffed. The second man, a stolid, low-browed 
German, short but very stocky, was cutting open 
a bristling catfish with his clasp knife; another 
fish lay on the bank beside him. The third fel- 
low, young and much slighter than his com- 
panions, a boy of eighteen or twenty years, his 
dilapidated felt hat pulled well down over his 
eyes, hugged his knees and stared gloomily into 
the fire. It was a small and cautious fire; from 


51 




52 

Partners for Fair 


which rose little smoke and less flame, a few hot 
coals, in fact, over which the coffee had boiled 
and the fish was to be cooked; but which, dead- 
ened and covered over with sand, would leave 
little trace. 

The German, having prepared his fish, rose 
heavily to his feet, and strolled toward the wil- 
low. Peter Prayle, his hand over Peter Piper’s 
muzzle, shrank back into the cave. The German, 
all unconscious of the two pairs of starting eyes 
fixed upon him, cut a couple of branches from the 
willow, and returned to his place before the fire. 
With his back to the cave, he whittled the wil- 
low branches into two forked sticks, placed a 
fish on the prongs of each fork; and stood the 
sticks upright in the sand before the fire, slanting 
slightly toward the glowing coals. Presently, 
the fish began to sizzle, and a new smell, deli- 
ciously enticing to the hungry pair in the mouth 
of the cave, mingled with the odor of the boil- 
ing coffee. 

A weak and watery gleam of sunlight broke 
through the obscuring envelope of gray cloud, 
and filtered down on the sodden bank and 




A Fish Breakfast 

53 


the glistening amber screen of dripping wil- 
lows. 

“ Storm’s over,” opined the red-bearded giant, 
in a guttural growl, squinting up at the patch 
of spreading blue. “ Say, — there’s some nobs 
would just about envy us this breakfast.” 

The boy who had sat moodily immovable, star- 
ing into the glowing fire, picked up a pebble and 
flung it contemptuously at the sizzling fish. 

“ Quid dat ! ” roared the German. “ You 
young fool ! ” 

The boy, sullenly regardless, tossed another, 
larger pebble, knocking one of the improvised 
spits, fish and all, into the glowing coals. 

With a mouthful of savage oaths, the German 
rescued the fish and flung it angrily into the 
willow brush ; while the red-bearded man, with a 
windmill sweep of his powerful arm, sent the 
boy sprawling and splashing into the stream. 

The German, raking the coals into a brighter 
glow, turned the remaining fish ; then leaned back 
into the brush, repenting of his too hasty action 
in throwing away what might, after all, be yet 
made into a good breakfast. 




54 

Partners for Fair 


But it was too late. A low growl greeted him. 

Peter Piper, tempted beyond endurance, had 
bounded from his master’s grasp, had seized the 
fish, and crouched over it among the willows. 

“You — hund!” threatened the German, with 
a dreadful roar. 

“ Drop it, sir ! ” commanded Peter Prayle, at 
the same moment. He had not meant to speak; 
but with oaths and flying missiles the men on the 
the bank assailed the flying thief. They were 
an ugly set, — not to be trifled with. 

Peter Prayle parted the branches and stepped 
out. The drifting sunlight touched his blond 
head ; his boy’s voice rang clear and steady. 

“ Piper ! ” he warned. “ Come here ! ” 

Peter Piper, a repentant criminal, crawled ab- 
jectly forth. The charred fish was in his mouth. 
He laid it down before his master, soft eyes and 
feathery tail imploring pardon. 

“ Say you’re sorry, sir! ” 

Peter Piper fawned on his belly to the Ger- 
man’s feet, rolled obsequiously over, and lay for 
a moment, his four paws pointing starkly sky- 
ward. 




A Fish Breakfast 

5S 


The German looked nonplused; then scratched 
his head. The red-bearded giant chuckled; the 
boy, shivering in his dripping garments, before 
the fire, grinned unwillingly. 

“ Ask ’em if we can have the fish, Piper ! ” 
commanded Peter Prayle. “ It isn’t much good 
now — and we’re hungry. Ask ’em if we can 
have the fish.” 

Instantly Peter Piper was on his hind legs, his 
forepaws drooping, waving tail, and brown eyes 
interrogative. 

The German stared; the boy before the fire 
grinned. 

“ Aw — give it ’em,” recommended the red- 
bearded man. 

“ Say thank you , Piper ! ” 

Quick as a flash Peter Piper rolled over three 
times ; then stood upright on his hind toes, bowed 
his head, yapped twice, dropped to all fours, and 
trotted over to snatch up the discarded fish. 

The three men broke into a guffaw of laughter, 
and everybody sat down to breakfast. 

In the meantime the sun had come out. The 
fern-brake along the banks of the brook trem- 




56 

Partners for Fair 


bled and glistened, an emerald tracery of arch- 
ing branches, laden with flashing diamond drops. 
In the golden willows a hidden robin sang. The 
sky arched gladly blue above a glad and fragrant 
world; but the breakfast party seated about the 
dying coals of the little fire had relapsed into sul- 
len gloom. 

Peter Prayle and Peter Piper, a bit apart, di- 
vided their fish, and ate it in respectful silence. 
When they had finished they got to their feet. 

“ Say thank you for the fish, Piper ! ” corm 
manded Peter Prayle. “ We’d better be going 
now.” 

But the red-bearded giant shot out a heavy, 
detaining hand, and jerked Peter to him. 

“ Where wuz yer hidin’?” he growled. 
“ Back yonder in them willers ? ” 

Peter stood unwilling and silent. 

“ Where wuz yer hidin’ ? ” There was an 
ugly gleam in the eyes of the red-bearded 
man. 

The German was raking sand over the dying 
embers of the little fire, obliterating all trace of 
it with cautious pains. 




A Fish Breakfast 

57 


“ Where wuz yer hidin’ ? ” The red-bearded 
giant raised a threatening hand. 

“ Duck him ! ” recommended the still shivering 
and dripping former victim of the giant’s prow- 
ess, with a malicious leer. “ Git his head down 
inter the brook — and he’ll tell yer fast enough ! ” 
“ I — was hiding in a cave — back there in the 
willows,” confessed Peter. “ Down, Piper ! 
Quiet ! I’ll show you, — if you’ll let us go ! ” 
The red-bearded man got to his feet, still hold- 
ing Peter’s arm. The others followed. A mo- 
ment later, Peter, having parted the branches of 
the willows, discovered the mouth of the cave 
to the three tramps. 

“ Anybody know about this place but you ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ We can stay here fer the day, then,” opined 
the red-bearded man, pushing Peter in before 
him. The others followed. 

“ Get over there into a corner and lay down. 
If yer open yer mouth ter peep, — yer won’t have 
long ter wish yer hadn’t ! ” 


CHAPTER VII 


TRAMPING IT 

TT seemed darker than ever in the cave, in 
contrast to the glad sunshine and beckon- 
ing freedom of the outside world. Quite evi- 
dently the two Peters had not improved their 
condition! They huddled in the corner where 
the red-headed giant had flung them, — fright- 
ened and very still. The German threw himself 
down on the bed of dried leaves, and was soon 
snoring; the boy shivered, an envious heap, be- 
side the bed; while the red-bearded man struck 
a match, lighted his pipe, and seated himself in 
the mouth of the cave, his great, hulking form 
entirely blocking it. 

Presently, the boy on the floor relaxed, 
stretched himself out, was snoring, too. Peter 
Prayle, his arms about Peter Piper’s neck, buried 
his face in the dog’s soft curls; blinked; closed 
his eyes for a moment — then opened them, and 
stared ! 


58 




Tramping It 

59 


For the red-bearded giant had struck a sec- 
ond match. He held it aloft; by its uncertain 
flickering flame he glanced cautiously about 
him. 

All was quiet in the cave, except for the gut- 
tural snoring of the German, and the shriller 
stertorous chorus of the sleeping boy. Though 
Peter peeped, his face, hidden in Piper’s blond 
curls, did not show that he peeped. The red- 
bearded giant thrust his hand into the bosom of 
his ragged shirt and drew out a ragged wallet : — 
very stealthily he began to count the money in 
the wallet. The silver he placed in one pile ; the 
gold in another; and the bills in a third. Not a 
coin rattled. He counted the money again and 
again, running the bills through his thick, heavy 
fingers. 

All at once Peter felt that he was about to 
sneeze. Perhaps it was the tickling of Piper’s 
blond curls in his nostrils. He must not sneeze ! 
He realized that ! He gripped his hands hard and 
shivered. Piper, a loose curl caught in the clasp 
of Peter’s clutching fingers, uttered a quick, 
startled yelp. 




6o 

Partners for Fair 


The red-bearded giant sprang to his feet with a 
stifled oath. 

Peter turned drowsily over, burying the other 
cheek in Piper’s curls : — apparently the two slept 
on. 

The red-bearded man squatted down again on 
his heels, watching, — silent, motionless. Then 
he began to pick up the money. Not a coin 
clinked. He thrust the wallet back into his shirt ; 
filled his pipe afresh; lighted it; and sat moodily 
smoking, his huge form silhouetted against the 
gray mouth of the cave. 

Presently the German awoke, shook himself 
like a dog, and began to grumble. He was up- 
braiding the red-bearded man; but because of 
his broken accent, and cautiously lowered tones, 
Peter could not make out the cause of the 
quarrel. 

“ I tell yer, I lost it,” vociferated the red- 
bearded giant, at last. “ It was just arter we got 
over the fence, down by the willers. I lost it — 
and I knowed I lost it. But there weren’t no use 
to do nothin’ — since we couldn’t go back ! ” 

By this time the boy had wakened, too. He 




Tramping It 

61 


joined in the wrangle, upbraiding his companions 
with mismanagement, — with the sordid discom- 
fort of their forlorn situation. 

Peter, straining his ears to listen, made out 
from the broken snatches of recrimination, that 
the three were partners in some recent crime, — 
of robbery, — perhaps of murder! The red- 
bearded giant, suspected by his confederates, was, 
in reality, attempting to cheat them of their share 
of the plunder. The stealthy counting of the 
money, the hidden wallet, were proof enough of 
that. 

At present, the men were discussing plans of 
escape, — each one distrustful, suspicious of the 
other. 

“ Call the kid,” commanded the red-bearded 
giant, at last. “ He can tell us.” 

The boy, nothing loath, scrambled to his feet, 
and stirred Peter with his boot-toe. 

“ Goin’ to sleep all day ? ” he inquired sar- 
castically. 

Peter, glad of the excuse, cramped by the long 
enforced rigidity of his attitude, yawned, sat 
up, and stretched himself. 




62 

Partners for Fair 


“ You’re one o’ them county kids; ain’t you? ” 
the red-bearded giant wanted to know. 

Then they asked about the burning of the 
County House, about the lay of the surrounding 
country ; how far the County House was situated 
from the pine forests; the names of the principal 
farmers in the neighborhood, and many other 
questions. To strike for the pines, and finally 
cross into Delaware, was evidently their present 
plan, — keeping together because they distrusted 
one another too much to separate ; keeping Peter 
with them for fear of what he might tell should 
they let him go. 

Peter, glancing from one heavy, lowering face 
to another, realized that he was in desperate com- 
pany. Well — he would watch his opportunity, 
and when that opportunity came ! 

“ We’re partners, old chap ! ” he whispered 
into Piper’s blond ear, when the tramps had at 
last ceased questioning, and let him take himself 
back to his distant corner. “ We’re partners, 
you and me, and we’re bound for California to 
find our relations ! ” 

A little after sundown the men set out, making 




Tramping It 

63 


the two boys walk ahead of them. They took a 
westward course, still following upstream, well 
protected from observation by the steep banks 
and over-hanging willows. The spring evening 
was crisp and chilly ; the early twilight sky tinted 
to pale primrose. Peter Piper, his four legs very 
lively after their long inactivity, wanted to frisk 
and bark. But Peter Prayle, warned by a surly 
command from the red-bearded man, kept him 
well to heel. 

The four companions trudged along in sullen 
silence. There was no pleasure, no sense of real 
fellowship or support in the little band. Crime 
is generally a poor solder. The tramps were 
hungry, cold, suspicious of one another. The 
red-bearded giant, who had usurped leadership, 
ruled because he was the strongest and the clever- 
est of the three. The other two obeyed because 
they waited a safer opportunity for rebellion. 
Peter obeyed because he knew he would be beaten 
if he did not. Each feared to share his true 
thoughts or ambitions with his companions. So 
they trudged on in sullen silence. 

After a bit, the stars came out, and about nine 




64 

Partners for Fair 


o’clock the full moon soared, a great golden ball, 
in the heavens. 

Toward midnight the tramps left the bed of the 
stream, and struck out across the open country. 
It was heavy walking through plowed fields and 
swampy meadows. Occasionally they passed a 
sleeping farmhouse, embowered in fragrant or- 
chards; and once a dog ran out and barked, and 
Peter Prayle had hard work to silence and re- 
strain Peter Piper. 

Then for a mile or two they took to the road. 
It was toward morning now. The moon had set. 
A gray mist lay over the country. Soon the 
cocks began to crow; and one high clarion call, 
clear and louder than the rest, warned them they 
were approaching another farm. 

The tramps, huddled in the shelter of a way- 
side oak, took council together. 

Then : “ Keep that dog o’ yourn quiet ! ” 
warned the red-bearded giant, glowering on 
Peter. “ If he barks — I’ll choke him.” 

Peter laid a restraining hand on Piper’s col- 
lar. Very cautiously, through outlying fields and 
dripping meadows, they approached the barn and 




Tramping It 

65 


out-buildings of the hidden homestead. A grove 
of young butternut-trees separated the house 
from the barn. It was a big barn, with great 
double doors, front and back; and a smaller 
single door at the side. The tramps, making a 
stealthy circuit, found all the doors fast: the 
double doors held by a padlock on the outside, the 
smaller door evidently bolted within. 

Smothered grunts and shuffles sounded from a 
neighboring pig-pen; a lamb bleated somewhere; 
again the cock crowed ; and a streak of spreading 
crimson in the east proclaimed the breaking dawn. 
Soon the household would be stirring. 

“ We’ve got ter git in ! ” growled the red- 
bearded man, shaking at the little door. 

A low, warning cry resounded ! A heavy body 
dropped suddenly; and beat for a moment above 
the men’s terror-stricken faces. 

“ It’s — an owl ! ” gasped Peter. 

The others recovered themselves ; and the Ger- 
man pointed to a small broken window over the 
door through which the owl had fluttered. 

“ Hist die kid up ! ” he suggested. “ He kin 
crawl through and open die winder fer us.” 




66 

Partners for Fair 


The red-bearded man picked Peter up, and 
tossed him easily toward the little window. 

“ In you go ! ” he said. 

Peter clutched the window and crawled 
through, scraping his shins and tearing his hands 
on the ragged splinters of glass which decorated 
the frame. Then he dropped easily to the barn- 
floor, and in another moment had opened the little 
door to the three tramps and Peter Piper. 


CHAPTER VIII 


PETER PIPER DESERTS 
LL day the men hid in the barn. They had 



climbed to the loft, where, burrowed like 
rats in the hay, they listened to the farmer’s boy, 
who came in to feed and water the stock. Later, 
a hen had cackled in the stalls below them; and, 
hungry to desperation, they sent Peter down the 
ladder to reconnoiter. He returned with three 
eggs and half a dozen russet apples. It was 
not much of a breakfast; and Peter had only an 
apple for his share. When Piper came nosing 
about the eggshells, the German pushed him 
roughly away, uttering a guttural threat. What 
he said Peter did not understand ; but Piper cow- 
ered to his master’s side and lay there blinking. 

Dead dogs tell no tales. The tramps were get- 
ting very tired of Peter Prayle and Peter Piper. 
As they munched their apples, they muttered 
together in low tones; and, at last, the boy 
said : 


67 


68 Partners for Fair 


“ Aw — drop him in de well. We kin git rid o' 
de kid later ! ” 

Peter Prayle and Peter Piper huddled closer in 
the hay, shivering. The situation was desperate 
enough: yet, despite gnawing pangs of hunger, 
their nest was warm and cozy. The sunlight, fall- 
ing in broad golden bands through chinks in the 
wall about them, glinted and flashed with dancing 
motes. The scent of the hay, weakness from lack 
of food made them drowsy. Presently, they 
dozed and napped. When Peter next woke it was 
to the sound of laughing children’s voices. A boy 
and a girl had climbed up to the loft, and were 
balancing themselves on the top rungs of the 
ladder. 

“ I tell yer I heered him ! ” the boy’s voice pro- 
claimed. “ It was a dog barkin’ — sure as sure ! ” 
“A dog in a hayloft!” the little girl giggled. 
She had pretty blue eyes, and a blue cotton frock, 
which exactly matched them. “ You’re crazy, 
Timothy! He couldn’t ha’ climbed up here! ” 

“ He did, just! ” Timothy asseverated. “ His 
bark did, anyway. Don’t you s’pose I know a 
dog barkin’ ? And there he be ! ” 




Peter Piper Deserts 

69 


Sure enough, Peter Piper, lured by the chil- 
dren’s gay voices, had eluded Peter Prayle’s 
startled clutch. He crawled from his burrow of 
hay, and advanced with propitiatory wags to the 
delighted pair on the ladder. 

“ Oh, oh ! ” giggled the little girl. 

“ Here, sir ! ” commanded the boy. 

Peter Piper, wagging his whole body, responded 
with heartiest enthusiasm to their welcoming 
caresses ; while Peter Prayle and the three tramps, 
(roused also by the chatter,) stared through 
chinks in the masking billows of hay, watching 
the meeting with breathless anxiety. 

“ He’s hungry ! ” proclaimed the boy. 

Peter Piper sat up on his hind legs, waving his 
feathery tail in his most fetching manner. 

“ The darlin’ ! ” cried the little girl, clapping 
her hands. “ Come, doggie! doggie! We’ll give 
you bones and milk for your breakfast ! ” 

With never a backward glance, Peter Piper 
put his forepaws on the ladder, and let the boy 
gather him into his arms. Giggling and strug- 
gling, the two children, bearing their new pet, 
managed to make their way to the foot of the 




70 

Partners for Fair 


ladder. Then voices and footsteps retreated 
through the door of the barn. 

Peter Prayle, alone in the loft with the angry, 
muttering tramps, buried his face in his arms. 
He was deserted — deserted by his one companion 
and chum! 

Most boys love their dogs — but most boys have 
fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters to love as 
well. Peter Prayle had only Peter Piper. For 
the last three years they had slept together, played 
together, been punished together. Peter Piper’s 
soft, understanding eyes, and feathery, loyal tail, 
had helped Peter Prayle through many a bitter 
moment. Now, in the darkest of dark hours, he 
had failed! Alone, deserted in the loft, Peter 
Prayle buried his face in his arms, and great sobs 
shook his tired, hungry little body. 

“ Quid dat ! ” growled the German with a 
menacing gesture. 

So Peter Prayle hushed his sobs, and, his face 
still buried in the hay, lay quiet. 

Hours passed — or so it seemed. A bee buzzed 
through a chink in the wall; a little mouse flashed 
out along a beam and vanished. 




Peter Piper Deserts 

71 


Then Peter Prayle heard a stealthy rustling. 
Peering through a crook in his arm, through a 
sunny tunnel of masking hay, — he saw a strange 
and terrifying spectacle. The red-bearded giant, 
his back to the other tramps, had risen to a 
crouching attitude. Very stealthily he thrust his 
hand into the bosom of his ragged shirt, and 
drew out the ragged wallet. Now he was count- 
ing the money. Not a coin clinked. He drew 
the bills again and again through his thick, 
clumsy fingers. But other eyes than Peter’s were 
upon him! The German, his squat, stolid body 
shaking with suppressed rage, hidden in the sunny 
hay like a beast in ambush, — watched too ! There 
was such savage greed and hatred in the Ger- 
man’s eyes that Peter shivered. 

Not a coin clinked! The red-bearded giant, 
sucking in his under lip, drew the bills again and 
again through his thick, clumsy fingers. At last, 
he put up his stolen wealth, and thrust the wallet 
back into his bosom. 

The bee buzzed; the mouse ran out again 
along the beam. The boy tramp stirred, yawned, 
sat up, and stretched himself. 




72 

Partners for Fair 


“ Aw — come on ! ” he said. “ Let’s git some 
grub, and git out o’ this ! ” 

The three argued awhile together. The red- 
bearded giant declared it yet too early to leave 
the barn. The German sided with the boy. The 
red-bearded giant, as usual, carried his point. It 
was agreed that they would wait till the stock 
had been fed and bedded for the night; then, 
while the farmer’s family were at supper, they 
would steal away. 

Peter, by this time, was faint and weak with 
hunger. A dull lethargy had settled on his spirit. 
The tramps, ravenous, too, became more daring. 
They would rob the roost of a pair of fat hens; 
and as soon as an opportunity offered, build a 
fire and feast themselves. 

The shadows gathered in the loft; the cattle 
were driven into a neighboring cowshed. Sounds 
of milking could be heard; then footsteps and 
voices in the barn below. At last, silence 
reigned. 

Very cautiously the men stole down the lad- 
der, and out of the barn. While the German 
and the red-bearded giant stood guard, the two 


Peter Piper Deserts 73 

boys were despatched to the hen-house. The 
young tramp selected his victims with a deft 
celerity born of experience. “ One ! two ! three ! 
Throttle 'em, bottle 'em ! ” he leered at Peter : — 
twisted the fowls' necks about, (with scarcely an 
escaping flutter or cackle,) and handed the still 
warm and quivering bodies to his startled ac- 
complice. 

Three minutes later the party was again on 
the road. Peter noticed that wherever the red- 
bearded giant might move, the German was be- 
side him; — and, with apparent carelessness, he 
had acquired a stout staff. 

About nine o’clock they struck the creek again. 
In the river bottom, surrounded by a thick grove 
of quivering aspen and young birch trees, a fire 
was built. Half an hour later the men feasted. 
The German seemed to be a natural cook. He 
spitted the chicken, as he had spitted the fish. 
Without salt or other condiments the seared flesh 
tasted delicious. The little party had the best of 
sauces, appetite! Once a rustle stirred the sur- 
rounding thicket. The men dropped the bones 
they were gnawing on, and stared into the dark 



74 

Partners for Fair 

underbrush. 

A hidden bird called and all was 


still. 

How it happened Peter did not know. They 
were about to rise from their meal. The red- 
bearded giant bent to extinguish the dying em- 
bers. Suddenly, the boy and the German had set 
upon him. Oaths and stifled cries resounded. 
The red-bearded giant, though taken unawares, 
defended himself savagely. Peter did not wait to 
see the outcome of the struggle. 

Turning, he fled, with never a backward glance 
— along the bank — splashing waist-deep across 
the stream — plunging and tearing through the 
snatching, clutching tangle of underbrush. 

Sounded a sharp, joyous yap! Breaking 
through the tangle of wild honeysuckle, and 
trailing foxgrapes, Peter Piper, the deserter, 
frisked and capered beside him! 


CHAPTER IX 


THE HOUSE IN THE WOODS 
HE two Peters ran and ran. Presently they 



lost all sounds of the struggling men. The 
turf was soft and springy under their feet. The 
crowding bushes, the snatching tangle of trail- 
ing vines, fell away on either hand. They had 
entered an open glade, green and gently sloping, 
fragrant with invisible violets, pied and sprinkled 
over with swaying anemones, that sparkled like 
fallen stars amid the grass. For the moon was 
up. Her gentle rays made a shadowy fairyland 
of the midnight world. 

Peter Prayle, exhausted, flung himself down in 
the cool and dewy grass. Peter Piper, instantly 
responsive, crouched too; and crawling to his 
master’s side, laid his nose flat upon the boy’s 
panting bosom. With gentle propitiatory wags, 
he looked up into his master’s eyes. 

Peter Prayle understood. He let his hand 


75 




76 

Partners for Fair 


run caressingly over the dog’s forehead and 
long, silky ears. 

“ Old feller ! ” he whispered. “ You couldn’t 
help it. You heard what they said about the 
well — and you just thought you had to go. But 
you didn’t mean to quit me, not for good ! ” 

And Peter Piper pressed his nose harder than 
ever on Peter Prayle’s fast-beating heart, and 
waved his feathery tail and beamed, — if ever a 
dog can be said to beam. Perfect trust and sym- 
pathy is a splendid thing between chums! 

After a bit they got up and trudged on again. 
Dawn was slowly breaking. A whisper filled 
each thicket; a flutter and stir of hidden birds’ 
voices and wings. The moon sailed, a silvery 
phantom, in the cloud-flecked east, and the clouds 
were like little pearly islands in a misty sea. 
The two Peters sniffed up the morning air, and 
tramped like soldiers; — till a toad jumped out 
from under a stone and set Peter Piper barking. 

“ Come along, sir ! ” commanded Peter Prayle. 

But presently he spied a tortoise: — a little fel- 
low, traveling importantly along under a mottled 
shell no bigger round than the half of a silver 




The House in the Woods 

77 


dollar. It was the smallest tortoise that Peter 
had ever seen ; and, picking it up, he stood so long 
to examine it that Piper had to bark his remon- 
strances ! 

So Peter put the tortoise in his pocket and 
again the two trudged on : — Peter whistling, 
Piper nosing into every thicket and bush. All the 
misery, the hunger, and the cold of the past few 
days were forgotten. Mrs. Hammer was for- 
gotten ; and old Bergman ; and the prisoning walls 
of the County House. 

All at once a brown rabbit scudded across the 
path. 

“ Hi ! ” shouted Peter Prayle. 

“Yap! yap!” answered Peter Piper. 

And both set off in hot pursuit. 

Needless to say, Bun escaped, popping into his 
burrow in the side of a gravel-bank, and send- 
ing a stinging shower of sand into the wide, 
expectant jaws of Peter Piper. 

About sunrise they gained the forest. High 
overhead the pine-trees soared, their heavy 
branches blotting out the dawn, the early sun- 
light flickering between the great trunks as the 




78 

Partners for Fair 


feeble rays of a candle might gleam in some dark 
chamber. Blossoming laurel and huckleberry 
bushes fringed either side of the sandy road that 
wound between the pines. A thrush rose won- 
derfully from a thicket, shaking a shower of 
splashing dew from the dripping branches. A 
squirrel frisked across the road, and from the 
lofty shelter of a pine-bough scolded down at 
Peter Piper. 

By this time both boy and dog were more than 
ready for breakfast! 

Peter Prayle, feeling in his pocket, got out 
his knife and a ball of twine. He would make a 
trap as Hen Robinson, the colored boy at the 
County House, had taught him. Perhaps he could 
snare a squirrel or a quail. Yet what good would 
be the fattest game when he had no matches? 
Without fire the most successful hunter is cheated 
indeed ! 

As Peter cut the twigs to make his trap, a 
sharp, explosive bark sounded from a neighbor- 
ing jungle. It was Piper’s emphatic note of 
startled challenge! Peter, following the sum- 
mons, pushed his way through a tangle of 




The House in the Woods 

79 


thorny branches. The jungle was nearly im- 
penetrable; — a mass of whipping, clutching 
briars, that caught and tore his clothing, that 
bloodied his hands, and beat him across the face. 
But on the other side Piper continued to bark: 

“ Come, master! Come! Did you ever in your 
life! ” his shrill, explosive yaps seemed to say. 

Peter, sheltering his face in his coat-sleeve, 
tore his way through the tangled mass of briars. 
Near the ground the branches had woven them- 
selves into a sort of tunnel, or natural runway. 
Peter ducked, and on hands and knees crawled 
through. 

Suddenly he was free! The thorny branches 
closed a barbed barrier behind him. In a sunny 
clearing, sheltered by singing pines, stood a little 
house ! 

Such a quaint, attractive house, two stories 
high only, neither deep nor wide : — as if some one 
had taken a good-sized packing-box, and set it up, 
and built on a chimney, and set in doors, win- 
dows, and a little porch. The house was painted 
yellow. It stood in the middle of a tiny, sunny 
garden, from which the pine-trees had been 




80 

Partners for Fair 


cleared. Crocuses bloomed in the garden, and 
golden daffodils and snowdrops; hollyhocks and 
Sweet William and other old-fashioned flowers 
were starting in the borders. A hedge of bud- 
ding lilacs closed the view to the south, to the 
west between giant pine-trees the sandy road 
ran on. Where the road entered the garden it 
narrowed to a gravel path which led to the porch. 
Honeysuckle climbed about the porch; and un- 
der the honeysuckle, bobbing and bouncing in the 
breeze, a brown astrakhan monkey swung at the 
end of a rubber string. The monkey was dressed 
in a short yellow silk jacket, and wore a yellow 
cap with a peacock’s feather at the side. 

Peter Piper, in the middle of the garden path, 
his legs wide apart, stood and barked at the 
brown astrakhan monkey. While Peter Prayle, 
his hands in his pockets, stood and blinked. 


CHAPTER X 


THE TWELVE PORTRAITS 

J)ETER PIPER barked. Peter Prayle blinked. 

The brown astrakhan monkey bobbed and 
bounced at the end of its rubber string. Some- 
times it seemed to threaten, shaking its queer 
stumpy brown fists; sometimes it seemed to 
beckon and bow. Nothing else stirred about the 
little yellow house. The curtains in the windows 
were drawn. 

“ Keep quiet, Piper ! ” commanded Peter 
Prayle. “ We’re going up the steps to ring the 
door-bell — like visitors ! ” 

Peter Piper did not want to keep quiet. As he 
passed the brown astrakhan monkey he growled. 
The monkey turned on its rubber string and 
bowed, a mocking bow ! 

Peter Prayle found the door-bell and pulled it. 
A tinkling jangle echoed through the little house. 
Then all was still. Peter Prayle rang again. 
Neither footstep nor voice responded. 

81 




82 

Partners for Fair 


“ We’ll go round to the back door,” said Peter 
Prayle, “ and knock there. It’s not so much like 
visitors — but we can’t help it.” 

At the back of the house there was a strip of 
kitchen-garden, neglected and weed-grown, where 
a tangle of pumpkin vines and a few sprouting 
bean-stalks survived from the previous season’s 
sowing. Pink and blue morning-glories ran up 
an open screen porch, which led into the kitchen ; 
and beside the porch was a covered rustic well 
and well-sweep. From the end of this sweep, 
on a rusty chain, hung a moss-grown bucket. 

Peter Prayle mounted the steps that led to the 
screen porch and knocked. No answer! Peter 
Piper looked up into Peter Prayle’s face and 
wagged a slow tail. 

“ Everybody’s out, I guess, old chap,” ex- 
plained Peter Prayle. “ We’ll sit down and wait 
for ’em.” 

Boy and dog threw themselves on the step in 
the sunshine. It was a pleasant place to wait — 
if one had not been hungry! The south breeze 
sang in the pine-tops. A mourning dove called 
from the depth of the woods. Peter Prayle 




The Twelve Portraits 

83 


stroked Peter Piper’s long, silky ears, and Peter 
Piper thumped his feathery tail. But it was 
weary work waiting. 

If you are hungry enough, even a draught of 
cold water may seem to offer nourishment. After 
a bit, Peter Prayle got up and went to the well- 
sweep, and let down the bucket. The chain 
clanked in a lonely sort of way; and the sweep 
creaked and complained, as if it had been on a 
long holiday, and did not like getting back into 
business. 

“Tell you what, Piper!” cried Peter sud- 
denly ; “ the house is an empty house, and you 
and me have got to find some way in, — so we can 
live in it ! ” 

This seemed an excellent idea! Peter Prayle 
and Peter Piper hurried back to the little house, 
firmly determined this time to win entrance. 
They tried the door of the screen porch, they 
tried the kitchen window. They tried the cellar- 
door under the window. Then they went around 
to the front again, where the brown astrakhan 
monkey still bobbed and capered. It seemed to 
be laughing at them and their futile efforts. 




84 

Partners for Fair 


Peter Prayle rattled at the front door and rang 
the bell till the wire buzzed; but Peter Piper, 
with a resentful growl, sprang at the monkey, and 
seizing it by a stumpy paw shook it. From the 
side-pocket of the little yellow jacket there 
dropped a key! 

Peter Prayle picked up the key, and fitted it 
into the lock of the door. The lock turned 
easily, the door swung wide ; and the two Peters 
entered. 

Such a delightful room as they found them- 
selves in! There was a chimney in one corner, 
and an open hearth with an iron basket full of 
chips and pine-cones, — all ready for the match. 
On either side of the chimney bookcases had been 
built into the wall. The shelves were full of gay 
volumes in bright covers, that gleamed with gold 
lettering and pleasure-promising designs. Where 
the bookcases ended, the windows began, and 
under each window was a comfortable seat. 
There were cushions in the seats, and the 
cushions were embroidered in patterns of flow- 
ers, or butterflies, or birds’ wings among green 
leaves. Opposite the fireplace stood a piano, on 




The Twelve Portraits 

85 


top of which was a careless scatter of sheet- 
music, a vase with a drooping rose, and a girl’s 
photograph in a silver frame. The pictured face 
of the girl was very beautiful, spirited and gen- 
erous at the same time. Her mouth and eyes 
seemed to welcome Peter. As he looked his 
heart began to thump. There was something 
curiously, appealingly familiar in the face. And 
yet, he had never seen it before! 

Beside the piano stood a half-strung harp. 
There were low wicker chairs about the room ; an 
open desk; a rug or two; and a table with a 
shaded lamp. On the desk and on the table were 
other girls’ photographs in silver frames. Wher- 
ever Peter turned bright eyes were upon him: — 
laughing eyes, pensive eyes, eyes that questioned, 
eyes that sparkled and teased. The portraits 
were simple portraits, scattered in a simple way 
about the room, but there were a great many of 
them; — one on the piano, two on the desk, three 
grouped together on the table; — twelve in all! 
Peter, under the bewildering battery of arch 
glances, scarcely dared to breathe. Never before 
had he been in a room with so many pretty girls ! 




86 

Partners for Fair 


That they were all of them tongue-tied seemed 
to make the matter worse. He was ragged, hun- 
gry, soiled — and suddenly very shy. 

“ Quiet, Piper ! ” he commanded. “ Quiet, 
sir! ” 

Peter Piper raised his brown eyes to his mas- 
ter’s face and gently waved his sunny tail. That 
was his way of saying, “/ know how to behave 
when in polite society. Don’t fear for me, mas- 
ter!” 

Beyond the first room a second room opened. 
This was evidently the dining-room, for through 
the partly-drawn curtains Peter caught a glimpse 
of a round table with chairs set about it. The 
sight of the table and the chairs drew Peter like 
a magnet. 

“ Old chap,” he promised the attentive Piper, 
“ we’re going to get some breakfast, whatever 
comes ! ” 

They made their way into the dining-room. 
The table was already spread. There were flow- 
ers upon it; plates heaped with fruit and con- 
fectionery; a great cake with a ring of pink and 
white candles ! Apparently, the two Peters 




The Twelve Portraits 



had dropped uninvited into a party — ready 
made! 

Peter Prayle’s heart began to hammer against 
his ribs. 

“ Maybe it’s just enchantment,” he confided 
to the watchful and appreciative Peter Piper, 
“ like you read in stories ! Maybe those young 
ladies have been invited, and haven’t come yet. 
Anyway, we’re here; and we’re hungry; and 
we’re goin’ to eat ! ” 

He took up a plate and heaped it with good 
things for Peter Piper. Then he seated himself. 
Not a sound in the house! 

Peter Prayle stretched out a trembling hand 
toward a dish of sugared cakes. At the same 
moment he noticed that on the plate before which 
he sat there lay a painted scroll. The scroll was 
half-unrolled. Peter could see that there were 
names traced upon it, and bright devices in pur- 
ple, rose, and gold. With a boy’s quick curiosity 
Peter took up the scroll and shook it free. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE PAINTED SCROLL 

^/^T the top of the scroll was a circle done in 
gold, and in the circle a little golden cross. 
Then followed a succession of girls’ names, writ- 
ten clearly in purple flowing ink, and wreathed 
about with flowers; and among the flowers, illu- 
minating each name, was some cunningly sug- 
gestive insignia or device. The scroll was of 
white vellum, (though this Peter did not know,) 
and when rolled together it could be tied with 
purple ribbon: 

Rosamund, 

Gwenyth, 

Jane, 

Elizabeth, 

Oona, 

Babette, 

Margaret, 

Mabel, 

Elaine, 

88 




The Painted Scroll 

89 


Helen, 

Edith, 

Theresa. 


Twelve names in all! Peter counted and 
laughed. 

He was naturally a clever boy, and even the 
three starved crushing years at the County House 
had not quite succeeded in dulling or brutalizing 
his imagination. In his studies there he had been 
head and shoulders above the other children ; for 
the close companionship with his mother had 
planted seeds of true education and cultivation 
which could never quite be starved out. In some 
subjects Peter had even had the advantage of the 
careless, stupid master, who ruled the orphans’ 
school and bullied or showed off his prize pupil 
according to circumstances or the mood. Peter, 
impatient of the man’s dull tyranny, had, no 
doubt, deserved many of the beatings he had re- 
ceived. Quick, responsive, where his interest was 
aroused, he had little patience with profitless 
routine. Yet even during this famine-stricken 
season of suppressed intelligence he had read : — 




90 

Partners for Fair 


read secretly and avidly every bit of printed ro- 
mance or poetry fortune might throw in his 
way, — from some thumbed and tattered copy of 
“ Ivanhoe ” or “ Lorna Doone,” lent by one of 
the slipshod, frowsy, orphan girls, who endlessly 
succeeded one another in Mrs. Hammer’s kitchen, 
to the latest blood-and-thunder serial printed in 
cheap story magazines. 

Here in the painted scroll, with its bright trac- 
ings, its fascinating succession of fanciful de- 
vices, he had found a problem worth the solving ! 

Did the hidden woodland house with its dainty 
furnishing of books and china, its feastful table, 
its silent instruments, and ready-to-light fires, be- 
long to the girls whose names were written here ? 
Were the silver-framed portraits their portraits? 
Twelve photographs, twelve names ! Again Peter 
read, and counted. And what about the brown 
astrakhan monkey, bobbing and bouncing at the 
end of its rubber string? 

The first name in the roll-call was Rosamund, 
and the garland which circled it was of roses, 
white and red. A little bird sang among the 
roses. The song was a happy song, Peter felt 




The Painted Scroll 

9 1 


sure, for the bird’s beating wings and ruffled, 
carmine throat seemed full of merriment and life. 
Gwenyth was the next name. Here the garland 
changed to violets, framing a palette and 
brushes. One girl must be a musician, the other 
an artist, Peter divined. Then came Jane; lilies 
wreathed this name, and among the lilies a little 
shining cross. Jane was very good ! For Eliza- 
beth there were apple-blossoms, encircling a 
group of rosy children’s faces. Oona had blue- 
bells and stars; Elaine pansies and a book; Ba- 
bette a pair of dancing slippers with winged 
heels; Theresa a little teapot amid bachelors’ 
buttons ! 

Peter studied the names and symbols, trying 
to grasp and conquer the teasing secret of the 
scroll; — and while he studied he ate. 

At last, having half-unconsciously consumed as 
many frosted cakes, cup-custards, and other con- 
fections as he could conveniently hold, he rose 
from the table and wandered back between the 
curtains. He would try to fit the portraits to the 
discovered names. It was more fun than the 
most exciting game of hide-and-seek ! 




92 

Partners for Fair 


“You are Rosamund!” said Peter. He did 
not know why he had decided this ; except that the 
portrait which stood upon the piano was the love- 
liest of all, and he liked the name of Rosamund 
the best. The girl from her silver frame smiled 
down upon him. In her hair, parted and coiled 
simply at the back of the neck, she wore a rose, — 
a red rose, Peter felt sure ! He remembered with 
a happy, tremulous flush that his mother had 
worn roses just like that. Somehow the young 
girl made him think of his mother. He stood 
with his hands behind him, and looked up into the 
beautiful, smiling face. 

“ You are Rosamund,” Peter said. “ And you 
sing songs ! ” 

His mother had used to sing to him from the 
time he was a tiny boy. She had taught him to 
play the piano, too. He opened it now, and ran 
his fingers lightly across the keys. Peter loved 
beautiful things, music, and pictures, and gentle 
ways of living. The years spent in the County 
House had been hard and bitter years; and yet, 
as the boy had lived them, day by day, he had 
not quite realized all he was missing. Now, the 




The Painted Scroll 

93 


sight of the pretty room, the piano, the rose in 
the girl’s hair, brought back earlier, happier mem- 
ories, which the common, colorless routine of in- 
stitution life had begun to blur and blunt. 

Peter sighed; a sigh that seemed to heave up 
from his very boot-toes. Something cool and 
dewy nestled in the hollow of his hands. It was 
Piper’s nose, — Piper, the faithful shadow and 
companion who had never failed him yet. 

“ Old chap ! ” Peter answered the mute caress. 
“ It’s pleasant here with the books and the music, 
— even if it is an empty house. But everybody 
ought to have folks of their own, to talk to ’em 
and take an interest in ’em. And we’re going to 
California, to find ours out! ” 

Peter Piper wagged his acquiescence. He was 
a wonderfully comforting and sympathetic 
chum ! 

Then Peter Prayle, scroll in hand, made the 
tour of the other portraits, pausing, studying, be- 
fore this one and that. Oona, with the bluebells 
and the shining golden stars, — could this be Oona ? 
her little dainty head set flowerlike upon a slender 
throat? And Theresa, snub-nosed, round-eyed — 




94 

Partners for Fair 


it didn’t take Peter long to pick her out! Jolly 
and frank, she’d stand no nonsense from a fellow, 
but she’d ask him to her parties, and he’d have a 
good time if he knew how to behave! This 
laughing, sparkling girl with teasing glances 
must be Babette, — Babette, who wore winged 
slippers and danced. Next came shy Gwen- 
yth, haughty Margaret, and plain, but worthy 
Jane ! 

There was one thing that Peter noticed. Each 
girl, whether dressed in frilly evening frock, or 
simple sailor-blouse, wore somewhere on her 
dainty person the same badge : the golden circle 
and cross, traced at the top of the painted scroll. 
Peter, with crude wisdom, set it down as some 
sort of “ trade-mark.” 

At last, tired of studying the photographs, he 
ended his tour by the bookcase, and the cover 
of a particular volume striking his fancy he took 
it from the shelves. It was an illustrated copy 
of the “ Arabian Nights.” In the thrilling ad- 
ventures of Aladdin and Sindbad the Sailor, 
Peter was soon lost to all sense of the oddity of 
his own situation. He lay flat on his stomach in 




The Painted Scroll 

95 


the window-seat, devouring story after story, till 
the pangs of a more physical hunger recalled him 
to the hour and the place. It must be four 
o’clock, at least, and time for tea! Peter Piper, 
who had been dozing, nose upon paws, agreed. 
Together the two wandered back into the dining- 
room. 

It was only toward the end of this second feast, 
when the empty plates and dishes strewed the 
board; — when a truly incredible number of cakes, 
custards, bonbons, jellies, and fruits, had been 
wholeheartedly and systematically despatched, — 
that Peter Prayle suddenly realized he had eaten 
the whole of somebody else’s party! 

Now, Peter had always been a scrupulously 
honest boy. Indeed, it was not so much honesty, 
perhaps, as a childish, instinctive sense of noblesse 
oblige. The very degradations and humiliations 
of his life at the County House had made him 
hold with a more punctilious pride to the memory 
of better things. Other boys might be punished 
for lying, or petty depredations in larder or or- 
chard; Peter, though he merited his own share of 
punishments, could boast a clean record on those 




96 

Partners for Fair 


accounts. Mrs. Hammer, recognizing his stand- 
ards, had, on several even doubtful-looking occa- 
sions, accepted his word. 

Yet here he sat, — on the outside of a grossly 
misappropriated banquet ! And at any moment 
the expectant feasters might flock in — Rosamund, 
Oona, Babette! 

Peter flushed a deep, mortified crimson and 
turned out the contents of his pockets. He had 
a knife, a ball of twine, two marbles, a Canadian 
dime, and a small lump of putty. Well, since 
he could not pay for what he had eaten in money, 
he would pay in work. 

“ We’ll go out into the garden, old chap,” he 
explained to Peter Piper, “ and tidy it up. Then, 
if those young ladies come, perhaps they won’t 
be so awful mad, — even if we have eaten all their 
party ! ” 

So, in the cool of the spring twilight Peter 
Prayle and Peter Piper worked in the little gar- 
den. They cut the grass, they weeded the bor- 
ders, they raked the gravel path. Of course, 
Peter Prayle did the actual work; but Peter 
Piper followed like a shadow, or lay down on 




The Painted Scroll 

97 


the little lawn, nose flat on paws, to gain sufficient 
perspective to approve ! 

A great deal can be done in the space of an 
hour, in the way of tidying, if a boy will really 
work; — and Peter Prayle worked like a beaver! 
He carted away dead leaves, trimmed off dead 
branches, tied up the roses. At last, fireflies 
began to flicker among the lilacs, and through 
the heavy, whispering branches of the pines a 
scatter of stars flashed out. Peter, stooping to 
train up a straying spray of honeysuckle, caught 
the gleam of some tiny object among the roots. 
He thrust in his hand, and brought up a little 
golden brooch. It was the circle and cross, — the 
familiar symbol worn by each pictured girl. 
Peter pinned the badge carefully into the lapel of 
his ragged jacket. For this one night he would 
take his place in the gild. He would sleep in the 
woodland house, he and Peter Piper, and guard 
its treasures. Then with morning, if none of the 
true proprietors had returned to relieve them, 
they would pass on, leaving a demolished board, it 
is true ; but tidy premises. This was Peter’s idea 
of an honorable business transaction. 


CHAPTER XII 


A FOOTSTEP IN THE SAND 

XT EXT morning the two Peters slept late. 

That was natural; for the bed was the soft- 
est bed the boy Peter had known in three years, 
and the dog Peter was made comfortable beside 
it on a gold-dyed lamb’s- wool rug. Not a dream 
troubled their slumbers, till the sun, shining full 
through the muslin curtains, at last awakened 
them. 

Peter Prayle sat up and blinked. Peter Piper 
put his forepaws on the edge of the bed, and 
lifted soft, questionful eyes to his master’s face. 

Then Peter Prayle began to grin. “ It’s us, 
old fellow,” he said ; “ though it don’t seem like 
it ! And we’re going to wash in the china 
pitcher with the gold handle, and we’re going to 
dry ourselves on the little towel with the long 
fringes. Gee!” 

Peter Piper wagged his tail. 

When Peter Prayle had finished his ablutions 
98 




A Footstep in the Sand 

99 


he dressed with particular care; brushing his 
ragged clothes with a silver-handled whisk-brush ; 
wishing there were not so many missing buttons. 
Then he lingered for a moment with a jaunty 
air before the mirror; and actually took up one 
of the toilet-bottles and dabbed a drop of cologne 
on the top of his blond head. He could remem- 
ber how his mother had used to do this play- 
fully, when he, a tiny chap, had come wandering 
into her chamber to watch her dress. And the 
little boy had always been pleased. There is no 
doubt that, had fortune smiled upon Peter, there 
would have been serious risk of his being some- 
thing of a dandy. With a sudden wistful shyness 
he slipped the cut-glass stopper back into the 
bottle. He was only a ragged, homeless boy. He 
had no right in these dainty, spotless premises. 

He and Peter Piper would go down into the 
garden and finish their job. Then they would 
pass on; leaving the place none the worse for 
their brief occupancy: — and perhaps, some day, 
they would have folks of their own in Cali- 
fornia ! 

Under the honeysuckle the brown astrakhan 




IOO 

Partners for Fair 


monkey still bobbed and bounced at the end of its 
rubber string. It swung fair around to bow to 
the two Peters as they stepped out on the little 
porch, — a mocking bow which they did not re- 
turn. For . . . 

What ever had happened in the little garden? 
The sprouting border, left neat and weedless over 
night, lay crushed and trampled. A great gap 
had been torn through the briar thicket ; branches 
had been broken from the lilac hedge and lay 
scattered about the lawn ; a delicate young birch- 
tree which grew by the side of the house was 
snapped directly in two, and the upper part of 
the stem had been carried away, and tossed 
among the lilacs. The golden daffodils, the deli- 
cate crocuses, lay flattened in the dust. 

With a quick, startled cry Peter ran down 
from the porch. On the shining, sandy path 
was a footmark, — a great spreading footmark 
— the huge shuffling track of some strange 
beast ! 

Peter, his hands on his knees, his eyes starting, 
bent over the trail. Piper, his nose to the ground, 
sniffed, whined, and bristled. In the soft, damp 




A Footstep in the Sand 

IOI 


carpet of the sward, one could see where the 
heavy beast had stood, crushing the dandelions 
and slender grass tops to browse on the honey- 
suckle vines — breaking and tearing at the 
branches high above Peter’s head : — then passing 
on, leaving destruction and devastation in its 
wake. 

“ It gets me,” said Peter Prayle, slowly and 
solemnly to Peter Piper. “ It gets me, old chap, 
what it can be ! ” 

Peter Piper, wagging his tail, seemed ready to 
investigate and report. His nose close to the 
ground, he ran excitedly this way and that. 
Sometimes he would stop and whine a bit. Once 
he gave a short, excited yap. Then, settling into 
a brisk, businesslike trot, he passed down the gar- 
den path, through the first scatter of pine-trees, 
and on into the fragrant shadows of the forest 
gloom. 

Peter Prayle, his hands in his pockets, an 
eager, absorbed look in his eyes, followed Piper’s 
lead. It was not the first time the two had 
hunted together ! 

The dark, overspreading branches whispered 




102 

Partners for Fair 


and sang about them. Occasionally a bird called, 
or a squirrel scolded overhead ; but Piper was not 
to be diverted. With lowered nose, with tail 
straight behind him, he held to the sandy, wind- 
ing way. And Peter followed, eager-footed, 
wondering, alert! 

Suddenly, at a bend in the silvery path a great 
boulder loomed ahead, — a huge, gray boulder 
that swayed and shifted, that turned slowly 
about. 

“ By heaven ! ” cried Peter Prayle. “ It’s an 
efelunt ! ” Occasionally he indulged in such odd, 
unchildish allocutions, with queer blunders of 
pronunciation, as was natural in a boy who had 
read and romanced more than he had talked with 
cultured people. 

Peter Piper, subscribing to Peter Prayle’s defi- 
nition, emitted a quick yap of apprehension, and 
vanished behind a huckleberry bush. His quarry 
was more than he had bargained for. 

Yet an elephant the beast must surely be! For 
it had a little tail behind, and a larger, stouter 
tail before, with great flapping ears, and a 
rounded back, and legs like the trunks of rough- 




A Footstep in the Sand 

103 


barked trees. Hen Robinson, the colored half- 
orphan, who had been taken by his mother to the 
circus the previous summer, had come back to the 
County House full of wild stories of the saw- 
dust ring. He had sat up half the night, his big 
eyes rolling in the gloom, and whispered to his 
audience glamorful tidings of the queer creatures 
he had seen. The “ efelunts ” had come first; — 
detail for detail they were like the swaying mon- 
ster among the trees! Little pig eyes; white, 
shiny tusks, — only this elephant’s tusks had been 
sawed short, and bound about with silver rings. 
The elephants in the circus had knelt upon bar- 
rels, and beat drums; they had balanced them- 
selves upon seesaws, and danced ponderously to 
the tootings and bangings of a brass band. Then 
when the show was over, Hen had visited them in 
their sawdust quarters, and watched them accept 
peanuts with bored condescension from a crowd 
of jostling men and boys. 

Indeed it had been Hen’s stories of the trick 
elephants, that had fired Peter Prayle with the 
idea of training Peter Piper to dance and parade. 
Now, by some quirk of fortune, the pair had 




104 

Partners for Fair 


unearthed a browsing monster specimen in the 
South Jersey pines! 

Peter Prayle stood and stared. Peter Piper, 
hidden in the huckleberry bushes, thrust his head 
from cover, and yapped again. 

The elephant turned slowly ; saw the boy stand- 
ing in the drifting sunlight of the silver, winding 
path; — advanced a swinging pace or two; thrust 
out his rusty gray trunk, and tapped Peter 
friendly-wise upon the shoulder! 

Far from being frightened, Peter smiled. He 
had a quick, intuitive sympathy and understand- 
ing with all beasts; and where they were con- 
cerned, was practically devoid of fear. After his 
mother’s death, before the advent of Peter Piper, 
in his lonely wanderings on the big farm, squir- 
rels, birds, and water things had been his only 
companions and mates. He had studied their 
habits, imitated their noises, and tracked them to 
their homes. 

So, now, pleased with the elephant’s advances, 
quite free from apprehension or alarm, he reached 
up, seized one of the huge flapping ears, and be- 
gan a gentle stroking caress. 




A Footstep in the Sand 

105 


The monster stood for a moment impassive; 
then with a slow, deliberate movement, he wound 
his trunk about Peter’s slender body, lifted him 
like a feather, and set him high upon his wrinkled 
neck ! 

Peter gasped. The elephant turned, and with 
a gentle swaying motion like some huge craft 
setting out from harbor, took way along the 
winding footpath. Peter Piper, emerging from 
the huckleberry bushes, followed with shrill, ex- 
cited yelps. 


CHAPTER XIII 


“ ELEPHANTS TO RIDE UPON ” 

TN this unexpected and entirely unpremeditated 
fashion, the two Peters left behind them the 
little woodland house ; its secret still unexplained ; 
its chatelaines still undiscovered! 

Peter, screwing his head about, tried for one 
farewell, backward glance; but masking huckle- 
berry branches and massed bushes of mountain 
laurel, already blocked the view. The whisper- 
ing pine-boughs above; the winding, silver path 
below; the swishing and scraping of the under- 
brush against his huge charger’s legs and sides, 
was all he could see or hear; except for Piper, 
trotting doggedly in the rear, silent now, but rais- 
ing wistful, questionful glances to his little mas- 
ter’s troubled, peeping face. 

For Peter was troubled! 

Rosamund, 

Gwenyth, 

Jane, 

106 


“Elephants to Ride Upon” 107 

Oona, 

Elizabeth, 

Babette. 

What would they think, the girls, whose silver- 
framed portraits he had studied; whose pretty, 
teasing names he had pondered over, — when they 
returned to their spoiled and trampled garden, — 
their ravished feast, the tumbled bed in which 
some uninvited and most probably unwelcome 
guest had slept? And the door of the little 
cottage streamed wide to sun and rain! Would 
the brown astrakhan monkey, bobbing and bounc- 
ing at the end of its rubber string, be sufficient 
guardian to the treasures committed to its 
charge ? 

Peter looked down at the golden badge that 
still decorated the soiled lapel of his ragged coat. 
By some odd chance, for one brief round of the 
clock, he had taken his place in the mysterious 
circle, had shared the bounties and responsibili- 
ties of the hidden woodland house. Far from 
his intention had it been to quit the premises in 
such negligent fashion! Well, unworthy as he 




108 

Partners for Fair 


felt himself, he would still wear the golden sym- 
bol. He would guard the secret of the house, 
and if ever he had an opportunity, seek out its 
owners and explain. 

Meantime the gray monster beneath him rolled 
comfortably along. There was neither hurry 
nor uncertainty in the huge beast’s swinging pace. 
With long, even strides he traveled. Peter, 
clutching a fold of the gray, wrinkled skin, help- 
less as a baby to guide or direct, gave himself 
up to the novelty and excitement of the adven- 
ture. He knew no word of command that ele- 
phants are accustomed to heed; no means or 
fashion of steering his bearer’s course. Prac- 
tically, he had been taken prisoner, and must 
wait upon the good will and good manners of his 
massive captor. 

The elephant plodded on. Peter, growing ac- 
customed to the dizzy height, to the easy, rolling 
gait, gained confidence. Moment by moment his 
spirits rose. Gradually, he assumed a comfort- 
able, cross-legged position just back of the huge 
beast’s fan-like ears, which twitched and flapped, 
sensitive as the sensitive ears of a horse. 


“ Elephants to Ride Upon ” 109 

The boy loosed his grip of the roll of gray 
skin, and tentatively stroked the expanse of 
wrinkled forehead, which lay beneath his slender 
sun-browned fingers, like the spreading surface of 
some novel, fascinating schoolroom map. 

Responsively, the elephant swung his trunk. 

Peter, encouraged, leaned over, stroking and 
tickling the great ears. 

“ Old chap ! ” he whispered, “ I don’t know 
where you’re taking me or what we’re going to 
do when we get there; — but I guess you don’t 
mean any harm ! ” 

The elephant slowly lifted his trunk; twisted 
it over his head, and let the odd, sensitive tip rest 
for a moment caressingly against the boy’s cheek. 

Peter chuckled. “ Why ! ” he cried ; “ we’re 
friends, old chap. It’s a cinch ! ” 

After this Peter shifted his position more 
freely; whistled to Peter Piper; and began to 
take an alert and watchful interest in the passing 
woodland sights and sounds. 

The narrow, sandy path had broadened out 
by this time into a sunny stretch of well-traveled 
country road. The pines were still about them; 




IIO 

Partners for Fair 


but the trees had retreated on either hand, and 
stood in scattered clumps, with occasional dip- 
ping hollows and stretching glades, where wild 
ferns, violets, fox-grapes, and mountain laurel 
made a green and fragrant tangle. There was 
plenty of room for passage now, even on the back 
of an elephant ! Peter no longer had to duck to 
escape the switching branches of the pine scrub. 
Quite evidently they were leaving the forest 
world behind; and the boy was not sorry. He 
sat cross-legged on the great beast’s neck, com- 
posed and confident as a young rajah. Occa- 
sionally, he slapped the elephant with his open 
palm; or even prodded him with his boot-heel. 
He was rapidly assuming an air of easy, proud 
authority. Piper, too, had lost all sense of the 
oddity of the situation, and followed along, 
tongue lolling, tail drooping, as if, after all “ ele- 
phants to ride upon,” was a perfectly natural and 
every-day occurrence; and nothing over which a 
sensible dog need show symptoms of excitement 
or alarm! 

So they progressed. Peter, looking down at 
the shortening shadows, reckoned the hour to be 


“ Elephants to Ride Upon” in 

j . 

about noon. They had traveled a goodly distance 
since morning; but the monster, showing no 
signs of fatigue, kept up its even, swinging 
gait; — though quite evidently Piper was weary. 

The road they followed showed numerous 
signs of recent travel. Apparently, they were 
approaching some village, or fair scattering of 
farms and homesteads at least. Surely, before 
long, a wagon of some sort would pass, and Peter 
could call out and inquire the way. That there 
was anything unusually startling in the sight of 
a small boy perched high on the head of an am- 
bling elephant, he himself was rapidly beginning 
to forget. 

Presently, as Peter meditated, the elephant 
slackened its pace. They had attained an open 
clearing, or cross-ways, where three roads met. 
A giant pine-tree grew in the center of the clear- 
ing, and across the mighty trunk of the tree had 
been nailed a sign-board : — 

Five Hundred Dollars’ Reward 
Elephant ! 

Stolen or Strayed! 




I 12 

Partners for Fair 


Peter blinked, and tugged vigorously at the 
flapping ears of his mount. The elephant, re- 
sponsive to the hint, took a swinging side-step to 
the tree, and stood squarely before the board 
while Peter read: — 


CHAPTER XIV 


FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS’ REWARD 

Five Hundred Dollars’ Reward 
Elephant ! 

Stolen or Strayed! 

Answers to name of 
Old Tip! 

Tusks sawed off and tipped with silver. 

Then in smaller print along the bottom of the 
board : — 

Five hundred dollars will he paid to anybody 
returning beast, or information regarding where- 
abouts of same, to Col. Samuel Saunders, prop, 
of the Seven Wonders Show and Circus Menag- 
erie, Seven Wonders Farm, Seven Miles out 
from Fair View village. 

PETER read over the staring advertisement, 
again and yet again. 

So! the elephant was a circus elephant — and 
anybody could gain a rich reward by returning 




”4 

Partners for Fair 


him to his owner, at Seven Wonders Farm, seven 
miles out from Fair View village. But where 
might Fair View village be? that was the ques- 
tion. And nobody by to answer ! 

“ Old Tip!” cried Peter suddenly. “Go 
home!” He brought the palm of his hand 
down with a ringing smack on the spreading, 
wrinkled forehead. 

Now it is hardly to be supposed that the huge 
beast felt the blow; nevertheless it turned, and 
with long, swinging strides, set off southward, 
along the intersecting cross-road. 

Peter, perched high upon the monster’s head, 
chuckled. In opulent fancy he was already 
spending that five hundred dollars! 

He would buy himself a suit of store-made 
clothes, and two new neckties; — a red tie and a 
blue! He would buy himself a scarf-pin. Yes, 
sir! a gold scarf-pin in the shape of a horse- 
shoe. The kind of pin the veterinary, who had 
come to visit the County cow, when the cow got 
a turnip down its throat and nearly choked to 
death, had worn. Peter had admired the vet- 
erinary. He was a handsome man, and in Mrs. 


Five Hundred Dollars' Reward 115 

Hammer s phrase, “ something of a dresser ! ” 
Now, with five hundred dollars in his pocket, 
Peter would buy a pin precisely like that! He 
would buy a bordered silk handkerchief; and a 
new collar for Peter Piper! He would buy a 
ticket to California! Yes, sir! 

Peter Prayle, cross-legged, between Old Tip’s 
swinging ears, sat and chuckled and dreamed. 

And as he dreamed : “ Too-oodle — oodle — 
00! ” sounded the braying note of a foggy- 
throated fish-horn. “ Too-oodle— oodle — 00 
—o ! ” 

Peter, recalled to the present, stared. Around 
the bend of another intersecting road, fringed 
by wayside maples, ambled a covered cart. The 
cart was drawn by a meager, piebald pony, with 
a severe-looking Roman nose. It was driven by a 
meager little white-aproned man, whose nose was 
oddly Roman, too. Beside the driver’s seat, a 
horn dangled at the end of a leather strap. An 
odor of fish, — freshish and stalish, — advanced as 
the cart advanced. The little white-aproned man 
was evidently a fishmonger. He leaned over in 
his seat to grasp the horn and blow again. 




1 16 

Partners for Fair 


But the piebald pony, having skirted the mask- 
ing maples, stood suddenly still in the shafts. 
Its four legs began to tremble beneath it; — to 
bend and spread, precisely as if they had been 
made of molasses candy and were melting in the 
sun! 

“ Hi, hi, there ! ” sputtered the little fish- 
monger, turning as white as his own apron. For 
he, too, had spied the elephant, passing along the 
main road. 

“ Beg pardon, sir ! ” called Peter, peering down 
over the rim of Old Tip’s flapping ears. “ But 
can you tell me the way to Seven Wonders Farm ? 
I want to return this elephant.” 

“ Where’d you get it ? ” thundered the little 
fishmonger, in a voice that ought to have come 
from a man three times his size. Then, before 
Peter had time to answer : “ Return nothin’ ! ” he 
snorted, seizing the whip, and urging the balky 
pony into the road, in the direct wake of the 
ambling elephant. “Not much, boy! You git 
straight ahead. I’ll return the pair of you to 
Colonel Saunders — an’ we’ll see what he has to 
say about it ! ” 


Five Hundred Dollars’ Reward 117 

There did not seem to be any use arguing the 
question. Peter could not understand why the 
fishmonger should be so angry; but it did not 
matter much. Old Tip, entirely undisturbed, 
swung steadily along. Peter Piper, dusty, weary, 
and dogged, padded at his heels. The piebald 
pony, still somewhat wobbly about the knees, and 
snorting intermittently through its Roman nose, 
brought up the rear, while the fishmonger, 
snorting too, continued to flourish his whip. 

It was now his turn to spend the five hundred 
dollars ! He would buy a new cart, and a shining 
new harness for the piebald pony ! He would buy 
a silk dress pattern for his little old mother ! He 
would pay up the three months’ arrears of rent, 
long overdue ! 

“ Get up, there ! ” bawled the fishmonger, at 
the piebald pony, who did not like the smell of 
elephants, and was trying the experiment of 
walking on the extreme tips of his two front 
toes ! 

Thus, quaintly enough, the little procession 
progressed. 

After a bit it passed a blacksmith shop. The 




1 1 8 

Partners for Fair 


smith, a swarthy-faced giant, in a brown leather 
apron, stood in the open door of the forge. 

“ Hello, there!” shouted the smith. “Hello! 
I say ! ” But nobody heeded or turned. 

“By jingo! It’s Saunders’ elephant!” mut- 
tered the smith. “ I’ll see he gets it safe.” 

And with long, swinging strides, he started to 
overtake the fishmonger’s cart. 

He had plenty of uses for money, too! The 
fishmonger was a good-for-nothing fellow, who 
drank more than he ought; but the smith was a 
family man with responsibilities! Seven pairs of 
shoes, of progressive sizes; a barrel of flour; 
a flitch of bacon danced in dizzying vision before 
the big man’s eyes, as he hurried in hot pursuit of 
the passing parade! 

Presently a laughing clamor of children’s 
voices broke upon the air. They were nearing a 
schoolhouse. It was the noon hour, and the pu- 
pils, little and big, having emptied their lunch- 
pails, were swinging and shouting in the shade 
of a great oak, while the master, a bald-headed 
old gentleman, had stepped out on the little porch, 
bell in hand, about to recall the classes to study. 


Five Hundred Dollars' Reward 119 

“ Ding-dong ! ” tolled the clapper of the mas- 
ter’s bell. “Ding! dong!” But it might just 
as well have kept quiet. For, all at once, the 
boys and girls caught sight of the elephant! 
With wild whoops and cries they surged out into 
the road. 

“ Old Tip ! Old Tip ! ” they shouted. " We’ll 
show you the way to the Circus Farm! We’ll 
take you to the Colonel! Hurrah! Old Tip! 
Old Tip!” 

So they danced and capered along the way. 
The schoolmaster, his spectacles pushed back on 
his bald head, angrily ringing his bell, followed 
his escaping flock. 

By this time you can’t very well imagine what 
that five hundred dollars wasn’t being spent for ! 
Oceans of soda water! mountains of ice cream! 
tons of candy! Dolls, dolls’ carriages and tea- 
sets! tops! footballs! rifles! slippers! hair-rib- 
bons! silver thimbles! a piano and a pony-cart! 
Even the old schoolmaster, trudging in the rear, 
angrily ringing his bell, calculated : — 

“ The Colonel is a gentleman. He’d never give 
five hundred dollars to be wasted among this 




120 

Partners for Fair 


rabble. We’ll buy a new stove for the school- 
house ; we’ll have new benches set in ; and I’ll get 
me a new desk, with a roll top ! ” 

So, they advanced! Perhaps the welcoming 
forces were becoming a little too much for Old 
Tip’s nerves. However that may be, they came 
next to a bridge, crossing a little hurrying brook, 
with steep banks; and rolling over the bridge 
in his shining new automobile they met face to 
face with the Sheriff. Now the Sheriff’s auto- 
mobile was the only automobile in the village; 
and he was correspondingly proud o-f it. Turn 
out of the road for a circus elephant, and a 
rabble of shouting children? — not he! 

Nevertheless, as Sheriff, he must see justice 
done. Five hundred dollars was a goodly sum of 
money, from which his old friend, Colonel Saun- 
ders, must not be lightly parted. So the Sheriff 
stopped his machine. 

“ Who’s responsible here ? ” he wanted to 
know. 

Evidently, Old Tip! With a sidelong move- 
ment the great beast swung ahead. A heave of 
his mighty shoulder sent Sheriff and auto- 


Five Hundred Dollars' Reward 121 

mobile crashing over the hank and into the 
stream ! 

Then Old Tip crossed the bridge; and nobody 
even bothered to help the Sheriff out of the 
brook. For on the other side of the bridge was 
the lane which led to Seven Wonders Farm! 
Docile as a kitten, Old Tip turned in; — his escort 
following at an awed and respectful distance. 

Midway of the lane a mighty roar % the 
air. 

“ Hurrah !” shrilled one of the youngsters; 
“ they’re feedin’ the nanimals ! ” 

Old Tip, as if in answer to the salute, raised 
his trunk high above his head, and let out a blar- 
ing trumpet call. 

Now, a pleasant, old-fashioned farmhouse 
could be spied nestling among apple trees; and 
hurrying across the lawn came a portly, gallant- 
looking gentleman of middle age, with grizzled 
mustaches and a goatee. 

“ Gentlemen ! ” he cried in courtly accents, with 
a welcoming wave of the hand: “Gentlemen, I 
see you have returned my elephant. To which of 
you, may I ask, do I owe the reward ? ” 


CHAPTER XV 


WHO EARNED IT? 

npHEN began a clamor ! The little fishmonger, 
springing down from his cart, shouted and 
shook his fist, now at Peter! now at Old Tip! 
now at the piebald pony ! 

“ I found ’em a mile or more up the road ! ” 
he proclaimed. “ Where they come from I don’ 
know — nor where they wuz goin’ to! But if it 
hadn’t ’a’ been fer me and this yer blatherskite of 
an nimitation caliker horse o’ mine, you’d be 
lookin’ fer yer elephant yet, Colonel ! ” 

The blacksmith, red in the face, was doing his 
best to outroar the fishmonger; but being a man 
of action, rather than of words, his story con- 
sisted mostly of a few short phrases, repeated 
again and again: — 

“ Colonel Saunders, sir ! Colonel Saunders ! ” 
and “ I says to myself it’s his elephant, — and I’ll 
see that he gets it ! ” 

But what the blacksmith lacked in fluency was 


122 



ScVarf 7\o.v v. 


Then Began a Clamor. 






Who Earned It? 

123 


more than made up for by the schoolmaster. 
His flow of explanation was as eloquent as it was 
scholarly ! 

“ I understand your predicament, Colonel. 
Beasts of a herbivorous habit are liable to stray. 
We should deeply deplore such disturbance of 
our academic atmosphere every day; but this 
afternoon we gladly lent our services to superin- 
tend the safe return of this valuable pachyderm.” 

While the children, less elegant in their 
vocabulary, skipped and capered about Old Tip’s 
steady legs, shouting: — 

“ We seen him ! We seen him, cornin’ along 
the road ! The boy was atop ; but we knowed it 
was your elephant ! So we brought it home ! ” 

Meantime the Sheriff, furious and dripping, 
joined the group. “ I have a complaint to lodge, 
Colonel,” he began. “ It’s all very well for you 
to winter your show on the old farm — we’re glad 
to have you. But a stray elephant ain’t the same 
as a stray cow, — and this beast has done dam- 
age! ” 

The Colonel smiled, and twirled the ends of his 
gray mustache. Then, looking up at Peter, silent 




124 

Partners for Fair 


and very weary, between the spreading ears of 
Old Tip, he said: — 

“Well, son; you seem to me to be in a posi- 
tion to know something about the history of the 
case. What’s your version ? ” 

There was something in the gallant Colonel’s 
courtly manner that made Peter suddenly 
ashamed to add his claim to the clamoring com- 
petitors for reward. 

He hesitated a moment. Then : — “ Sir,” he 
answered, with a graceful gesture, which seemed 
at once to place honor and responsibility where 
honor was due : — “ I guess it was Old Tip found 
me; and I guess it was him, and none of the rest 
of us, found the way home. If he hadn’t ’a’ 
wanted to come, we couldn’t have brought him, 
you see ! ” 

The Colonel laughed, a big, hearty laugh, that 
in spite of themselves, put everybody in a good 
humor. 

“ There speaks the gentleman ! ” he said. 
“ The five hundred dollars goes to Old Tip. 
And, sir,” turning to the dripping Sheriff and 
extending his hand; “ it is his intention to spend 




Who Earned It? 

125 


it repairing whatever property he may have been 
so unfortunate as to have damaged.” 

With that they had to be satisfied. 

Old Tip, seeming to realize that the affair was 
finally settled, folded his knees beneath him, and 
sank quietly to the ground. The Colonel ex- 
tended his hand to Peter. 

“ Come, son ! ” he said. “ I guess the two of 
you are about ready for a bath and a rubdown be- 
fore dinner.” 

“ There’s three of us, sir,” explained Peter 
Prayle, sliding cautiously over the elephant’s 
wall-like side; and finding himself very stiff, 
queer, and dizzy, after his long ride. While 
Peter Piper’s frantic yaps and joyous greetings 
of his little master’s safe return to terra firma 
left no doubt as to who the third must be! 

“Your dog, is it?” observed the Colonel. 
“ Every boy should have a dog. Come in and 
meet my sister.” 

Then while the hurrying keepers surrounded 
Old Tip, he led the two Peters indoors. 

The hall they entered was rather like a museum 
than an ordinary farmhouse hall. Great horns 




126 

Partners for Fair 


and spreading antlers of many varieties decorated 
the walls. Bows and arrows, war-clubs, em- 
broidered buckskin moccasins, and beautiful 
specimens of Indian beadwork and basketry oc- 
cupied one entire side. Along the other side ran 
a curio-cabinet, full of rare specimens of ancient 
American pottery, whose value Peter was too 
ignorant to appreciate; — but he did wonder over 
the fine pelts that strewed the floor, and he would 
have liked to stop and examine them if he had 
not been so tired. 

Meantime his host had stepped to the foot of 
the stairs. 

“ Sister ! ” he called. “ Sister ! I have a guest ; 
and he’s just about ready for a bath, — and a 
bit of dinner, later ! ” 

Miss Belinda Saunders, the Colonel’s sister, 
stepped to the head of the stairs. She was a 
dainty, fragile-looking little lady, some ten or 
twelve years older than her brother. She was 
erect of figure, graceful, petite, with the fresh 
complexion of a girl; though her snowy hair 
wreathed her head like a natural crown. She 
wore a spotless lavender print frock; with white 




Who Earned It? 

127 


ruffles at the throat, and a dainty white apron with 
pockets. When she saw Peter, dusty, ragged, 
stupid with fatigue, she did not even blink. 

“ Very well, brother,” she returned. “ Bring 
the boy up. I’ll get some hot water directly.” 

My, but that bath was good! 

Peter hardly realized that Miss Belinda helped 
him to undress, and got him into the tub. Then 
she bade him encase himself in one of the 
Colonel’s engulfing nightshirts; and climb into 
the great four-poster bed. 

It was from a silver tray in the canopied four- 
poster, that Peter ate his supper that evening. 
He had slept so long and so heavily after the 
day’s troubled events, that, at last, the Colonel 
himself had come to rouse him. 

Now, the brother and sister stood at the foot 
of the bed, and looked their two guests over 
with approving eyes. The dog was a well-man- 
nered dog, there could be no doubt of that! He 
crouched on the floor by the bedside, his nose 
flat upon his paws ; and only the tip of his gently 
pleading tail suggested that, when his master had 
finished, he would be ready for his tea ! The boy 




128 

Partners for Fair 


was well-mannered, too! He had thanked Miss 
Belinda very prettily, when she brought in the 
tray, and said he hoped he was not causing too 
much trouble. 

The Colonel, standing at the foot of the bed, 
watching Peter eat the chicken-broth, hot biscuit, 
and crabapple jelly, chuckled. 

“ Son,” he wanted to know, “ if it had been 
you who brought back my elephant, — and earned 
the reward, — how would you have spent that five 
hundred dollars ? ” 

“ I’d have bought some new clothes, sir,” an- 
swered Peter honestly; “a gold scarf pin; a new 
collar for Peter Piper ; and a ticket to Cali- 
fornia ! ” 

Again the Colonel laughed. “ Well,” he re- 
turned, “ I guess you’ll have to have the new 
clothes, anyway. And the collar, — since your dog 
seems to be a good dog! As to the ticket to 
California, we expect to make the western cir- 
cuit ourselves, this summer. If you are a handy 
boy and can make yourself useful with animals, 
we’ll be glad to take you along ! ” 


CHAPTER XVI 


SEVEN WONDERS FARM 

/ "J A HE next morning, after breakfast, the 
Colonel took Peter about the farm. It was 
delightfully like most farms in some ways, and 
delightfully unlike, in others. For instance, there 
was a big red barn: — but in the barn, instead of 
hay-carts, and threshing-machine, and a buggy, 
stood six gilded chariots in a splendid row! In 
the stables, where patient plow-horses might have 
been expected, snowy, proud-necked steeds 
stamped and whinnied; and when one passed to 
the cow-shed, one found giraffes, camels, a pair 
of striped zebras, and a gnu! A litter of young 
foxes occupied the dog-kennel; an ant-eater was 
in the rabbit-pen, a royal Bengal tiger, and a 
lion, which roared so loud he actually made the 
earth tremble, were confined side by side in 
wheeled cages opposite the chicken-yard. Here, 
lonely among busy leghorns, ducks, and banties, a 
bare-legged ostrich chasseed and danced in the 




130 

Partners for Fair 


The carriage-house was filled with a gorgeous 
band-wagon; and ranged along the walls a row 
of iron cages contained, respectively, a family 
of bears, a pair of panthers, a pair of pumas, a 
leopard, a jaguar, and a lynx! 

Old Tip, the elephant, was standing in the 
sunshine in front of the carriage-house, receiving 
his morning bath. A heavy chain and ball con- 
fined his hind foot. He looked sulky and 
ashamed; but when he spied Peter, he swung his 
trunk from side to side, grunted, and took a 
shuffling step forward. 

“ You old rascal!” threatened the Colonel. 
Then to the keeper who was hosing him : “ Look 
here, Henry, I don’t consider it necessary to 
make a convict of the old boy. He’s hardly liable 
to stray again.” 

“ That’s what I told Oleson, sir,” the man 
agreed. “ But he ordered the irons on.” 

“ Take them off,” said the Colonel carelessly. 
“ And put him in the big crib till morning. Then 
let him out into the paddock again. 

“ There’s money to be made in the show busi- 
ness,” he confided to Peter, happy and wonder- 




Seven Wonders Farm 

I 3 I 


in g by his side, “ and lots of fun to be got out 
of it, too. Fun with a moral attached! But it 
takes just about as much tact and common sense 
to handle the beasts as it does to handle the men. 
What you see here is the main basis and per- 
manent nucleus of my plant.” He waved his 
hand, with a largely characteristic gesture. “ As 
we travel I pick up various side attractions here 
and there, for short engagements : — sometimes a 
troop of Indian jugglers, or an educated ape. 
One season we were lucky enough to find a long- 
haired Cannibal King, out of a job and down on 
his luck. We engaged him, and fed him on roast 
sucking-pig, which tasted a good deal like roast 
baby, he confided to one of my men, — and made 
a very pretty little jungle scene and ballet, out 
of his evening meal, — topping off with a con- 
version. We were touring Massachusetts and the 
New England States, — so it took well! Again I 
got a pair of blind Japanese dancing mice, and 
a young professor from Tokio University to lec- 
ture upon ’em. People simply shouted: — for he 
was an amusing chap, with a very pretty philos- 
ophy of his own. It doesn’t matter so much what 




132 

Partners for Fair 


you present, — so long as it’s a novelty. Often 
the simpler the surprise, the better it suc- 
ceeds.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Peter gravely. 

“When I was a lad,” continued the Colonel; 
“ I never was let go to the circus. My people 
were Seventh Day Baptists, and didn’t believe 
much in shows of any kind. But I wanted to go 
— the worst way ! I wanted to see the world, and 
learn the stuff it was made of. So, after a bit, 
through general incompatibility of temperament, 
and misunderstanding of ideals, I ran away: and 
did worse things than I would, if I hadn’t been 
brought up so strictly, I believe. Then my 
mother died; — and, somehow, I chanced to see 
the notice in the papers — and came home. My 
father was an old man, stricken already, and con- 
fined to a wheel-chair. 

“We talked the whole thing over together — 
after I’d been to my mother’s grave. 

“ ‘ I made a mistake, Samuel,’ my father said, 
‘ and you made a mistake ; and she paid the for- 
feit. Let’s see what we can do now to right it, 
for other mothers’ sons.’ 




Seven Wonders Farm 

133 


“ So, the Seven Wonders Show and Circus 
Menagerie was really his idea! It was to be a 
clean concern, providing innocent amusement at 
cheap prices to country boys in out-of-the-way 
sections. And, sir, it has paid! I’ve toured the 
country, South and East, and the Middle Western 
States. This summer we make our first trip to 
California. My sister is as much interested in 
the venture as I am. Half the profits go to her. 
My sister is a thoroughbred, and a broad-minded 
woman, to boot.” 

“ Yes, sir/’ Peter had answered again. 

He and the Colonel were becoming capital 
friends. Confidence begets confidence. During 
the day the boy related to his hosts the main out- 
lines of his own history: — he told them of his 
orphaned condition; of the burning of the County 
House; of his consequent determination to go to 
California and find his mother’s family; how he 
had met with the tramps, and escaped from them. 
But from some curious feeling, either of shyness 
or delicacy, he made no mention of the little 
woodland cottage, and his brief, but fascinating 
sojourn there. And when Miss Belinda, noticing 




134 

Partners for Fair 


the golden symbol pinned on the soiled lapel of 
his ragged coat, asked him the significance of 
it, meaning to draw him out still farther, Peter 
had blushed and replied: — 

“ It’s a society to which I belong, ma’am.” 

The Colonel and his sister had laughed. They 
liked the boy with his odd, childish reserves and 
childish confidences; his graceful manners and 
his utter lack of self-consciousness. 

“ He is a nice little fellow ! ” Miss Belinda 
found opportunity to tell her brother at the end 
of the conference. “ Keep him with you, Sam- 
uel. You ought to be able to do something for a 
boy like that.” 

“ I have a feeling that he is going to prove 
of value,” returned the Colonel optimistically. 
“ Besides, he did return Old Tip, you know; and 
spoke up like a gentleman when the rest of the 
pack were clamoring and yelping after the re- 
ward.” 

“ Oh, you can easily make that up to him,” 
said Miss Belinda. “ He’d pay for dressing. 
Did you notice how nicely he handles his knife 
and fork — after three years in an orphanage, too ! 




Seven Wonders Farm 

135 


Take him in to town, and get him some good 
clothes.” 

So, early the following week the Colonel actu- 
ally took Peter in to Philadelphia, to fit him out 
with a new wardrobe ! Such shops as they went 
into ! and such a dazzling display of garments as 
was spread before them! Peter, in his wildest 
moments, had never dreamed of three new suits ! 
Yet that was what the Colonel bought him! A 
knock-about rough-and-ready gray for everyday 
use, a stylishly-cut pepper-and-salt for Sunday; 
and a long-trousered white “ middy ” affair with 
a flowing collar, and jaunty bow-knot effect, “ in 
case my sister gives a tea and wants you in to 
help.” 

Peter, before the long mirror, in those middy 
togs, flushed, proud, and beaming, was undeniably 
a picture! For he was a handsome little fellow, 
and, as Miss Belinda said, “ it paid to dress 
him.” 

Then they bought stockings and shoes, pa- 
jamas, handkerchiefs, — oh, a host of things; and 
actually a little trunk to keep them all in! 

“ You said something about a collar for your 




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dog? ” remarked the Colonel, swinging out of the 
last shop with a jaunty air. 

So they bought that, too! A tan collar with 
turquoise knobs ; — or rather the knobs looked like 
turquoise ! 

“ I tell you, Piper,” whispered Peter Prayle, 
late that evening, after Miss Belinda had ap- 
proved and admired the various purchases, “ I 
tell you, sir,” the two squatted on the floor by the 
open window of Peter’s chamber, the boy’s arms 
about the dog’s neck, and together blinked at the 
blinking stars above the shadowy apple-trees, 
“ I tell you, we’re in clover ! ” 

And Peter Piper waved his feathery tail. He 
thought so, too! 


CHAPTER XVII 


OLD OLESON 

JT certainly did seem as if the two Peters 
were lucky. Their new life at Seven Won- 
ders Farm ran on pleasantly and profitably from 
day to day. Far from growing weary of his 
young protege, the Colonel, as he came to know 
Peter better, liked him better. And Miss Belinda 
was positively fond of the boy; and would have 
petted him, if petting had been natural to her 
delicately reserved and somewhat aloof tempera- 
ment. She liked Peter Piper, too. 

“ There is something about the pair ! ” she 
declared again and again. “ Young America 
with manners! You will not be forced to regret 
anything you may do for them, brother. I feel 
sure of that.” 

So, instead of being quartered in one of the 
cottages on the place, either with Mr. Oleson, the 
head-keeper, or the clown and his family, who 
lived at the foot of the lane; or in the dormitory 
137 




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back of the barn where the majority of the em- 
ployees lodged; Peter Prayle and Peter Piper 
stayed on in the big farmhouse, and soon came 
to be regarded almost as an integral part of the 
family. 

The Colonel took an interest in Peter’s edu- 
cation, too. “ Not that I believe much in schools 
or colleges,” he declared, with his large and char- 
acteristic wave of the hand. “ They spoil more 
good material than ever they develop. Why coop 
up a boy’s active mind and body between four 
walls ? The world is the best teacher ! Neverthe- 
less a gentleman should not be illiterate. Get 
down that volume, there.” 

Then, while Miss Belinda crocheted, and the 
Colonel smoked, Peter would read, stumblingly 
at first, but later with flushing cheeks and spar- 
kling eyes, some straightforward narrative of ad- 
venture and achievement: — and the best of the 
stories was, that they were true ! For the 
Colonel was devoted to biography; and particu- 
larly to the biography of explorers, soldiers, men 
of active affairs, — the conquerors of circum- 
stance, who, born poor or obscure, had died fa- 




Old Oleson 

139 


mous. Peter learned for the first time the names 
and histories of some of these men : — Hugh Mil- 
ler, Henry M. Stanley, Chinese Gordon, and our 
own heroes, Benjamin Franklin and Abraham 
Lincoln. And often breaking into the reading, 
the Colonel would launch out into reminiscences 
of his own career; the famous men he had person- 
ally known and talked with: Barnum, General 
Custer, Buffalo Bill, pointing out their defects 
as well as their greatness, while Peter listened and 
thrilled; and felt that the right sort of success 
was within the grasp of any boy, if only he had 
grit enough to hold to the right principles. This 
practical application of the romance he had so 
long reveled in was a splendid thing for Peter. 
He was beginning to appreciate what Mrs. Ham- 
mer had meant the evening of their farewell in- 
terview, when she said, “ A boy can make him- 
self by himself, if he’s the right stuff; and we’re 
giving you the chance.” 

It had not been that chance that Peter wanted ; 
but now by a strange series of unlooked-for ad- 
ventures, another and better opportunity had 
been given him. Peter, listening to the Colonel’s 




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Partners for Fair 


stories, or reading aloud the still greater stories 
selected for his perusal, quietly determined that 
he would make the best of himself ; that despite 
the disadvantages of his past history and environ- 
ment, a Prayle should again occupy, if not an 
enviable, at least a respectable position in the 
world. 

And Miss Belinda, sympathetically conscious 
of the waking ambition and good will of the boy, 
did her part. 

One evening, when they had been reading later 
than usual, she followed Peter upstairs, and, hav- 
ing opened the window and adjusted the mos- 
quito-nettings, she said: — 

“ Peter, do you say your prayers ? ” 

Peter blushed. “ I do when I don’t forget to, 
ma’am,” he answered. “ Or if I want anything 
very bad.” 

“ Well, don’t forget to,” Miss Belinda told 
him. “ The perfect gentleman is the Christian 
gentleman. And they are scarce things; — but 
well worth meeting in this world.” 

Certainly, the quiet evenings spent with the 
Colonel and his sister were very good for Peter ; 




Old Oleson 

i 4 i 


but the busy, happy days passed in the open were 
almost as useful in their way. For the first time 
in his life the boy was learning the dignity and 
pleasure of intelligent work, for the first time he 
had independent duties and responsibilities of his 
own. The Colonel did not believe in idleness, 
and when it had been definitely decided that 
Peter was to remain on the farm, he had taken 
him out and introduced him to Old Oleson, the 
head-keeper. 

Oleson was a big, blond Swede. He had been 
with the Colonel some fifteen years : — almost as 
long as Sultan, the gaunt, toothless, African lion, 
whose roar shook the ground under your feet, if 
you stood at feeding-time in front of his cage. 
Oleson was a little like a lion himself : surly and 
uncertain of temper. But what he did not know 
about beasts was hardly worth the knowing. His 
methods were the old-fashioned methods, it is 
true. He ruled more by fear than by kindness; 
and on this point, he and the Colonel frequently 
disagreed. If a beast rebelled, Oleson punished 
it to the limit; beating it into subjection and 
forced obedience. Indeed, Oleson was not popu- 




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lar, with either the animals or the men, who 
yielded a grudging admiration to his indomitable 
will and splendid physical powers, but otherwise 
had as little to do with him as possible. Oleson 
did not care. He seemed to enjoy being lonely; 
in that respect resembling Sultan, too. Lion and 
man were big, blond, surly, and solitary; — each 
had a single passion in his life; for Sultan adored 
Oleson; and Oleson adored the Colonel. 

“ I’ve got a boy here to help you,” the Colonel 
had said to Oleson the morning he took Peter out 
to introduce him to his new duties. “ He can 
clean the cages, and learn the ways of the beasts. 
Don’t be afraid to trust him, — Old Tip wasn’t! 
Let him come to the training classes and watch 
your methods. We need a new intelligence on 
the place. This boy is young enough to grow into 
the right sort of trainer. Bring him up to suc- 
ceed you, Oleson ! ” 

That was an unfortunate remark of the 
Colonel’s; — for Oleson did not want to be suc- 
ceeded. So he growled and looked Peter over 
with no favorable eye. 

After that Peter’s duties on the farm were 




Old Oleson 

143 


whatever Oleson bade him to do, and the man did 
not spare his pupil. It seemed almost as if he 
were trying to daunt, or overburden him; — as if, 
with heavy tasks and risky chances, he wished to 
break the boy's spirit, or shatter his nerve. When 
Sultan roared the loudest, and paced the most 
restlessly up and down behind his iron grating, 
it was Peter, Oleson ordered up to bring fresh 
water, or shake in a new litter of straw. 

And one day, when the boy laughed and 
said : — “ He likes to roar ; but he hasn't got any 
teeth ! He’s old, like you, Oleson ! " Oleson 
bared his arm, and showed the long purple scars 
that disfigured it. 

“ She have claws, you bets ! ” he retorted, in 
his surly, broken growl, behind his bushy beard. 
“ Keep on, little master, and be an animal trainer 
yet ! And get chewed up yet, you bets, too ! ” 

But Peter’s enthusiasm was not to be dashed. 
He was not afraid; and what Oleson bade him 
do, he did, quickly and well. Indeed, too well in 
some instances; for he was continually attract- 
ing the Colonel’s interest and attention, — and 
that was very bitter to Old Oleson! 




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Partners for Fair 


That the boy had “ a way ” with the animals 
could not be doubted. From the first, he won 
their confidence and respect. Old Tip, faithful 
to first impressions, never outgrew or forgot the 
fancy he had taken to Peter. The boy could not 
pass him without some token of the huge beast’s 
ponderous regard. 

Peter Piper, faithful as a shadow, went where 
Peter Prayle went. He seemed entirely fasci- 
nated by the new interests and duties of the day; 
and would lie for hours, his nose upon his paws, 
in front of the cages, observing the slightest 
movement of the captive beasts within. Indeed, 
Peter’s whereabouts could almost invariably be 
noted by Piper, watching outside the cage. 

At the training classes, Peter Prayle, perfectly 
silent and attentive, holding the goad, in case of 
trouble, stood by and watched Oleson. Though 
the boy never made any remark, in his mind he 
frequently criticised the great Swede’s brutal and 
overbearing manner toward his pupils. And 
Oleson, conscious of the lack of admiration and 
respect, resented it. 

One day when trouble did develop, and Ole- 




Old Oleson 

ns 


son beat a stupid bear about the head and over 
the nose, Peter flushed hotly and took a quick, 
impulsive step forward. He was reminded of 
the master who used to beat him, at the County 
House. The trouble was that the bear had not 
understood; with a little more tact and patience 
the matter need never have come to the clinch. 

Oleson felt the boy’s unspoken criticism, and 
glared at him under his beetling brows. 

“You t’ink you know more than Oleson! 
Take the class yourself ! ” he commanded. 

But the bear was already in a bad temper, and 
Peter could do nothing with him. 

Oleson sneered as the rebellious pupils sham- 
bled back into their quarters. 

“ You t’ink you know good and plenty, little 
master! Well, — very well! Some day you’ll 
know too much ! ” 

Peter did not answer; for the sake of the 
Colonel he generally managed to curb his tongue. 
But he did not like Oleson! 


CHAPTER XVIII 


PETER’S TROUPE 

T3ESIDES his duties with Oleson, Peter took 
riding lessons. Sammy Smithers, the 
clown, was his master here. Sammy lived in a 
pretty little rose-embowered cottage at the foot 
of the lane. He had a wife and three daugh- 
ters; and the four ladies together formed the 
nucleus of the Seven Wonders Show World Fa- 
mous Equestrian Troupe. Grace, Blanche, and 
Violet were the names of the Smithers girls. 
Ranging in ages from twenty to twenty-six years, 
they were freckle- faced, light on their feet, and 
graceful as Amazons. As they washed the dishes, 
or sprinkled the clothes in their cozy little six by 
eight kitchen, slangy, jolly, and hospitable, they 
were approachable enough. The two Peters 
loved to steal away to visit them. But attired 
in short, flaring, star-bespangled skirts; leaping 
through paper hoops; landing on the tips of 
satin toes on the backs of flying chargers, they 
146 




Peter’s Troupe 

147 


seemed more like fairies than like human 
women ! 

If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Smithers, you would- 
n’t have believed the Smithers girls could be 
beaten on horseback ! But, over forty as she was, 
and verging on the portly, Mrs. Smithers had 
been born and raised on a Texas ranch. Riding 
round the ring at full gallop, on her full-blooded 
mare, “ Lone Star,” rifle to shoulder, she would 
shoot a silver dollar tossed from her husband’s 
hand, as he stood on a red, white, and blue bar- 
rel in the middle of the tan-bark. And then to 
see Lone Star dance! while Mrs. Smithers, 
strangely graceful in the saddle, despite her hun- 
dred and fifty pounds avoirdupois, swayed with 
every swaying movement! 

“Try as you will, you can’t beat yer mar!” 
was Sammie Smithers’ frequent boast. And 
Mrs. Smithers would beam, and Sammie, a lean, 
little, melancholy- faced chap, would look senti- 
mental, (they were still very much in love,) but 
the Smithers girls had almost given up trying ! 

“ Will I ever be able to ride like that ? ” Peter 
asked one afternoon, at the end of an unusually 




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Partners for Fair 


thrilling performance, on the tan-bark, back of 
the old red barn. 

Sammy cracked his whip and shook his head. 
“ You’re too old to begin to try, son,” he an- 
swered. “ You’ll never make a red equestrian : — 
but we’ll do our best to make an imitation one 
out of you. At least, you ain’t afraid ! ” 

And Peter wasn’t. After much discouraging 
practice, and not a few jarring falls, he found 
his bare toes beginning to develop surprising 
prehensile qualities, unsuspected before. Stand- 
ing upright, he could cling to the back of a 
freely-galloping horse. He could even spring 
from his mount, catch at a trapeze, and swing 
from it by one hand, till the horse, making the 
circuit of the ring, passed under him again. 

This was enough to earn him an inconspicu- 
ous and humble place in the Seven Wonders 
Show World Famous Equestrian Troupe. 

“ Let’s make an Equestrian out of Piper, too ! ” 
cried Grace Smithers, the youngest and j oiliest of 
the three sisters, one day. 

“ All right,” Peter agreed. And after that 
Piper was taught to mount Smithers’ trick don- 


Peter’s Troupe 


149 


key; to sit sedately on the saddle-pad, reins in 
mouth, and pace proudly round the ring. But 
when the mischief-loving Grace gave the equally 
mischief-loving ass a secret signal, which sent 
both hind heels flying, and Peter Piper richochet- 
ing and somersaulting into the tan-bark, the 
offended performer could never be induced to 
mount again. 

“ You oughtn’t to have done that,” Peter dis- 
approved. “ You oughtn’t ever to fool ’em. 
They don’t forget ! ” 

Perhaps that was the secret of the boy’s own 
success as a trainer. He never fooled or deceived 
his pupils. With magnetic gentleness and pa- 
tience, again and again, he would put them 
through the same simple tricks. 

“ It isn’t so much what he teaches ! ” cried the 
delighted Colonel, slapping his knee, “ as the way 
he teaches it; and the material he selects! For 
a setter pup to play at hunt the handkerchief is 
an old trick; but for a fox-cub to hunt it is 
new and distinctly original, by George ! ” 

But Peter’s greatest and most surprising suc- 
cess was with the bantams. Strutting around the 




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Partners for Fair 


chicken-yard, was a pair of pretty half-grown 
cocks; brilliant of plumage, dainty of de- 
meanor: — the sole remnant of an unusually un- 
fortunate bantam brood. The chickens were 
Miss Belinda’s special responsibility; and this 
pair of bantams her special pets. Morning and 
evening Peter generally found time to slip away 
from his other duties, and accompany the little 
lady on her rounds. The attention pleased Miss 
Belinda very much. One evening when the tiny 
cocks had flown up and perched on the bowl of 
hominy in their mistress’s hand, Peter said : 

“ My, but they are pretty, — aren’t they ! I’d 
like to shut them up in a separate pen and teach 
them things. Would you mind? ” 

“ Why, no,” Miss Belinda had answered. 
“ But I never did hear of trained bantams. 
Try it, if you want to.” 

So Peter shut the bantams in a separate pen; 
and very frequently he could be spied through 
the coarse wire netting, his gay little troupe 
about him; Piper, silent and watchful as a senti- 
nel at the gate. But nobody thought to inquire 
any further into the matter, or pay it any special 




Peter’s Troupe 

151 


heed; till one afternoon nearly a month later, 
when Miss Belinda and her brother were enter- 
taining a party of friends who had driven over 
from a neighboring town. 

Then the Colonel, showing his guests about the 
place, came suddenly on Peter Prayle and his 
bantam troupe under a blossoming apple-tree. 
The boy, a graceful, spirited figure in his white 
middy suit, which he had donned at Miss Belin- 
da’s special request in honor of the prospective 
visitors, was standing erect and motionless as a 
little statue, under the spreading branches of the 
blossoming tree. He held his right arm straight 
in front of him, and balanced on the extended 
index finger was a slender rod. At the opposite 
ends of this rod was perched the shining bantam 
pair. The rod teetered up and down; the little 
cocks sat with jewel-like eyes fastened on one 
another. Occasionally one of them would shift 
his position, and the rod would swing a little 
faster. Still the tiny performers maintained 
their equilibrium, and balanced their gay bodies 
in time to the lively air that Peter was whistling. 
The fox-cub sat and blinked in the sun; Peter 




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Partners for Fair 


Piper, nose on paws, watched the performance 
with happy approval; and a drifting shower of 
pink apple-blossom snow fell over all. 

The Colonel and his guests stood to watch. 
It certainly was a charming and unusual tableau ! 

When Peter thought that his pupils had bal- 
anced long enough he brought the tune to a 
finish; then, with a deft manipulation of the 
little rod, sent the bantams circling above his 
head in graceful flight ! They flapped their wings 
for a moment uncertainly, and landed with a 
triumphant crow on the back of the unsuspect- 
ing fox-cub — who rolled over and began to beat 
at them with playful paws. Peter Piper sprang 
to the rescue with a low growl! 

This was too much for the Colonel and his 
friends, — who broke into a round of hearty ap- 
plause ! 

Peter Prayle, delighted with the unlooked-for 
appreciation, turned. 

“ It’s an achievement! Isn't it?" he cried. 

“ It’s capital, sir ! ” roared the delighted 
Colonel. “ Capital ! The first and only trained 
bantams in the country! Original, dainty, and 




Peter’s Troupe 

153 


distinctly worth while! We’ll work it up! we’ll 
develop it, and feature it ! ‘ Peter Prayle’s Mixed 
Fox and Cocks Act ! ’ It’ll bring down the 
house ! ” 

Old Oleson, on his way to the barn to feed 
Sultan, turned at the sound of the Colonel’s 
sonorous voice. He saw the excited group under 
the apple-tree; and the Colonel shaking Peter, 
flushed, proud, and happy, by the hand. A ter- 
rible savage roar crashed and echoed through the 
twilight shadows. It was Sultan, clamoring to be 
fed. But had one been able to look into the 
heart of the hurrying Swede, one would have 
seen a more raging, devouring, hatred there than 
existed in the heart of the hungry lion! Peter’s 
growing popularity and success were poison to 
Old Oleson. 


CHAPTER XIX 


WITH THE CARAVAN 

IT was June and all was bustle and confusion 
at Seven Wonders Farm. In less than a fort- 
night the show must be ready to take the road, — 
performers, beasts, paraphernalia! The Colonel, 
Oleson, Smithers, had their hands full and more 
than full; for it was a big undertaking to trans- 
port a menagerie across the width of the conti- 
nent. As the day set for departure drew near, 
obstacle after obstacle arose. It really seemed 
that the gods were leagued together to pre- 
vent the Seven Wonders Show ever getting 
off! 

First the winged costumes which had been 
ordered for the “ New Equestrian and Flying 
Feat,” of the three Smithers girls, did not arrive; 
and when, after much complaint and many delays, 
they did finally come, it was found that the wings 
would not balance properly ! So Grace and Peter 
were despatched to the city to see the matter 


154 




With the Caravan 

155 


righted. Then Old Tip, the elephant, caught 
a heavy cold, which seemed liable to incapacitate 
him for travel ; but Oleson dosed him with 
buckets of flaxseed tea; and rubbed him down 
with a pound or two of capsicum vaseline, and, at 
last, he came right. Finally, the very last week, 
it was discovered that the steam-boiler of the cal- 
liope was out of order, and a mechanic had to be 
hastily summoned to overhaul the internal work- 
ings of this very important adjunct to the parad- 
ing forces. 

According to the Colonel’s schedule they were 
to set out the evening of the twelfth; travel by 
wagon to Trenton Junction, — a three-days’ 
march, — where a special train would await them, 
and transport them direct to Chicago. In 
Chicago they would stop over a day to rest the 
animals and give the Colonel an opportunity to 
make one or two final business arrangements with 
other Western showmen. Then on to Denver, — 
and from Denver, still in their special, but fol- 
lowing south along the famous Santa Fe route, 
they would take the last desert stretch to Los 
Angeles ! 




156 

Partners for Fair 


To Peter, in dizzy contemplation, it seemed a 
wonderful trip! 

“ We’re going, old chap!” he whispered into 
the cocked and curly ear of Peter Piper the morn- 
ing of the eventful day. “ We’re really going, — 
you and me, — to California! And perhaps we’ll 
find our relations there ! ” 

But it must be confessed, since his practical 
adoption by Miss Belinda and the Colonel, Peter 
had dreamed less of a possible reunion with his 
family. 

Indeed, the boy had little time for dreaming, 
and had changed in many other ways. The wist- 
ful, questioning look had almost left his blue 
eyes, which sparkled now with a happy light and 
confidence. His step was gay and buoyant. His 
voice had acquired a resonant, almost lordly 
ring! 

For the Colonel, far from forgetting the im- 
pulsive promises he had made his protege — under 
the blossoming apple-tree — had followed the mat- 
ter up with enthusiasm. The pretty picture of 
the trained bantams, the young fox, the boy, and 
the dog, had somehow caught his showman’s 




With the Caravan 

157 


fancy. Together he and Peter had worked it 
up, and developed it into a very fetching bit of 
acting. The bantams at the bidding of Peter’s 
slender magnetic wand, danced and bobbed . to 
each other. They allowed themselves to be 
driven tandem across the stage, in a gay little 
harness tinkling with silver bells ! They climbed 
ladders; they swung on revolving rings. But 
the crowning feat was still — 

Peter Prayle’s 
Fascinating and Unique 
Mixed 

Fox and Cocks 
Act! 

as the Colonel had already had the little comedy 
billed and featured in advance advertising notices. 

Yes, actually, in the coming season’s West- 
ern peregrinations Peter Prayle was to be 
“ starred ” ! And everybody at Seven Wonders 
Farm was delighted, except Old Oleson. To the 
big Swede, the boy’s popularity and happy con- 
sciousness of dawning success were like some cor- 




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Partners for Fair 


roding acid, eating into his soul. He tried to 
hide his jealous hatred as well as he could; but 
in rough command, or bitter sarcastic jest, it 
found expression day by day. And Peter was 
a very human boy. Petted and spoiled more or 
less by his other associates, he grew restive and 
impatient under Oleson’s antagonistic rule. It 
was characteristic of Peter to respond generously, 
more than generously, indeed, to kindness; but to 
chafe and rebel against tyranny. On one or two 
occasions, recently, he and Piper had taken the 
opportunity to avenge themselves on Oleson by 
some seemingly innocent, but cleverly played 
prank; and the other employees had been de- 
lighted to laugh and egg the pair on ! For Ole- 
son had many enemies. The more irritable and 
helplessly jealous he became, the more ancient 
grudges were made up for in the memories of his 
long-suffering associates. The Colonel and Miss 
Belinda alone were totally unconscious of the 
growing feud. Oleson’s surly, overbearing man- 
ner they put down to nothing more serious than 
an increasing crustiness; and the apparently 
harmless pranks played by Peter, they considered 




With the Caravan 

159 


natural in a boy of unusual spirit and imagina- 
tion. 

The sun was setting, the long shadows fell 
pleasantly across the clipped sward, as Miss 
Belinda stood among her roses, and waved fare- 
well to the slowly rolling wagons of the Seven 
Wonders Show. Between the slim green poplars 
they passed down the narrow lane, — the gilded 
chariots, the gayly painted wagons, — and turn- 
ing at the end, vanished one by one ! Miss Bel- 
inda had waved good-by to those wagons, many 
a time; but there was a special lingering ten- 
derness in this farewell, it seemed. For the deli- 
cate, aloof little lady, while scarcely admitting 
it to herself, had grown to be very fond of Peter 
these last few weeks. It was wonderfully pleas- 
ant to have a child about the place ! Instinctively 
Miss Belinda, waving her white kerchief, realized 
how she would miss Peter, — now he was gone! 
His quick eager questions ! his rare, shy caresses, 
his unconscious charming confidences, and still 
more charming reserves. Besides, he might not 
come back the same Peter! 

For the first time, in bidding Peter good-by, 




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Partners for Fair 


Miss Belinda had kissed him. She had put her 
frail little, white hand under his chin, turned up 
his flushed and eager face, looked earnestly into 
his blue eyes, and said : “ Good-by, my dear. Be 
a good boy ! ” Now, as she stood among her 
roses, the last wagon vanished from view. Miss 
Belinda turned, and went slowly up the steps and 
into^the big, empty house. 

The evening star was already shining in the 
primrose sky. The shady lane, the broad coun- 
try road, were a-twitter with nesting swallows. 
Peter and the Colonel, in an open wagon bring- 
ing up the rear of the slowly marching parade, 
had for the last time waved their hats to Miss 
Belinda. Now they sat quiet, side by side. Once 
in a while a crashing roar from Sultan, rolling 
ahead of them in his closed traveling cage, woke 
the echoes and obliterated the song of the nesting 
swallows ; but, for the most part, the beasts were 
silent. The wagons, like great ghostly shadows, 
took their way along the deserted highroad ; occa- 
sionally a group of children would run out from 
some hidden farmhouse, and shout — “ Good-by, 
Old Tip ! Good-by ! ” to the huge, swinging form 




With the Caravan 

161 


of their favorite. But, as the shadows gathered, 
as new stars dawned in the darkening sky, even 
these interruptions ceased. 

So, all night the caravan traveled, silently, 
steadily; and camped for breakfast next morn- 
ing on the crest of a wooded hill. After a few 
hours’ rest they took to the road again; and so 
progressed by easy stages, with never a mishap, to 
Trenton Junction. 

Here, early in the morning of the fifteenth, 
in a chilly drizzle of mist, the wakeful, restless 
beasts were safely transferred to the waiting 
special. The train was made up of eight cars: 
four open stock-cars, into which the various 
cages were rolled; a baggage car, for chariots, 
costume-trunks, and general paraphernalia; then 
the combined kitchen and diner, and two sleepers. 

“ All aboard ! ” shouted the conductor. The 
engine whistled; the bell rang. Colonel Saun- 
ders’ Seven Wonders Show and Circus Menag- 
erie was embarked and actually on its way to 
California ! 


CHAPTER XX 


ON THE ROAD 

T T was a wonderful trip ! Peter Prayle and 
Peter Piper, fascinated by the flashing blur of 
misty landscape, kept their heads close together, 
and their noses flattened against the window- 
pane for the whole of the first morning. The 
country seemed to be running away from the 
train. Seas of billowy, blowing daisies topped 
suddenly vanishing little hills. Then would 
come stretches of woodland; cows browsing in 
quiet meadows; a village spire; fences; and a 
little town. The whistle blew. With a roar and 
a rush the train swept across an arching cement 
bridge. Next came many chimneys, and a sky 
darkened by low-hanging smoke. Then more 
flowers; more woods; a hollow valley; and a 
twinkling pond! 

“ Time for luncheon! ” announced the Colonel, 
at last. He had been reading his newspaper, 
with an occasional interested glance at Peter’s 

162 


On the Road 


163 


absorbed and serious face. The boy, left to 
himself, would have entirely forgotten the neces- 
sity of eating. But now he turned in a flash of 
eager pleasure. 

“ It’s — like a flying dragon — passing across 
the world,” he said, “ to travel in a train ! ” 

The Colonel agreed. He was getting a great 
deal of enjoyment out of Peter. At luncheon 
they had a little table to themselves; and Oleson 
sulked. It had never been the Coloners custom, 
when traveling, to eat with any of the employees. 
Why should Peter, a homeless, workhouse waif, 
be granted special privileges? 

After luncheon Peter visited his bantams; 
then played casino with the Smithers girls till 
dinner-time. Certainly, traveling with a circus 
was extremely pleasant! 

That night, while everybody slept, the train 
crossed into Canada. Next morning came De- 
troit, and the Colonel took Peter and the Smith- 
ers girls out to the upper deck of the trans- 
fer boat, to watch the engine and long line of 
cars being ferried across the river. The animals 
all seemed in excellent spirits. Old Tip thrust 




164 

Partners for Fair 


his trunk between the bars of his box-car, (he 
had a half-section to himself,) and greeted his 
friends in dignified salute. “ There’s rarely any 
trouble or fractiousness on a journey,” the 
Colonel explained. “ Beasts like variety and 
change of scene, as well as the rest of us ! ” 

About noon flashed the sparkling waters of 
Lake Michigan; where little ruffly waves rippled 
along the yellow stretches of the shore, and 
great gulls swooped above melancholy sand 
dunes. 

“ It’s all like pictures ! ” said Peter. “ Pic- 
tures in a great big geography ! ” 

By half-past four they were in Chicago. The 
roar and hurry of the big depot; the din and 
clangor of the city streets, nearly took the boy’s 
breath away. Again the Colonel, leaving Ole- 
son in charge of the menagerie, made Peter his 
companion. Together they spent the night at a 
hotel; and next morning, after one or two busi- 
ness interviews, and a little necessary shopping, 
the Colonel showed Peter something of the city. 
“ There is no such education as that given by 
intelligent travel,” he explained. But Peter did 




On the Road 

165 


not like Chicago ; the din and the bustle confused 
him. 

When they returned about six in the evening, 
and swung aboard their side-tracked special, a 
few moments before it was time to pull out, Ole- 
son had scarcely a word to say. 

“ The day had passed quietly? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ The animals were all in condition to continue 
the trip? ” 

“ Yes.” 

The Colonel looked the big man over, — sur- 
prised. 

“ You’re perfectly well yourself, Oleson?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ All aboard, then,” sang out the Colonel to 
the conductor. 

Oleson’s increasing crustiness was becoming 
too confirmed a habit to be altogether comfort- 
able. 

Next morning Peter woke to more pictures; 
more geography! acres and acres of it; green, 
rolling prairie-land, under a sunny sky. They 
were crossing Iowa, and the character of the 




1 66 

Partners for Fair 


country had already changed. There were fewer 
trees now, and only a sparse scattering of settle- 
ments. Then came the muddy, foaming waters 
of the Missouri; and a long afternoon through 
Nebraska. Peter and Grace Smithers played 
casino, — and Peter beat! 

The following day the boy had his first view 
of the Rockies. Delicate, ethereal, like fairy 
mountains, they appeared to hang suspended be- 
tween earth and sky. Fantastic, shadowy, shim- 
mering with pale opalescent tints, — more like 
drifting snow wreaths, or cloud landscape, they 
seemed, than solid, earth-planted peaks! 

“ I didn’t think they’d look like that ! ” said 
Peter. 

“ They are the most wonderful mountains in 
the world, sir ! ” the Colonel, who was patriotic, 
replied. 

From Denver, where beasts and men were given 
a second day of rest, and the Colonel again took 
Peter sight-seeing, the special ran south into New 
Mexico. Here, at the stations, swarthy Indian 
women, draped in bright blankets, crowded about 
the train, offering long strings of beads, mocca- 


On the Road 


167 


sins, blankets, or pottery for sale. The animals 
proved a great attraction. But a ten-minutes’ 
stop was all the schedule allowed. With a swoop 
and a rush the train forged on, southward still, 
along the famous Santa Fe desert route. 

By this time, it must be confessed, Peter was 
getting a bit weary of scenery; of the long in- 
activity and confinement, too. 

“ Come along,” he said to Grace Smithers. 
“ Let’s go look at the animals.” 

Nobody noticed their absence. The Colonel 
was deep in a magazine article; Oleson dozed. 

But presently, above the forging rush of the 
train, crashed old Sultan’s angry roar. Again 
and again it echoed, and re-echoed! 

“ Something’s troubling Sultan,” said the 
Colonel, closing his magazine; and followed by 
Oleson and Smithers, he hurried out to see. 

The lion, lashing his tail, working himself mo- 
ment by moment into greater fury, paced the 
length of his cage: — and in front of the cage 
on a wooden chair sat Oleson — in mimic effigy! 

It was very cleverly done. Oleson’s hat; Ole- 
son’s coat ; Oleson’s stooping shoulders ! He had 




1 68 

Partners for Fair 


the goad in his hand, to the end of which was 
affixed a staring placard: — 


“You Can’t Frighten Me!” 

No wonder Sultan was angry! 

“ Why ! ” cried the Colonel. Then he began 
to laugh. “ The little rascal ! ” 

The other keepers laughed, too, led by Smith- 
ers. Long and loud they laughed; for they saw 
that Oleson was furious; furious as the pacing, 
lashing beast. 

With a great sweep of his arm he hurled the 
chair to one side, overturning the offending 
effigy. 

“ It’s chokes, is it ? ” he growled in his big 
blond beard. “ Well — two can play at chokes, 
I guess ! ” 


CHAPTER XXI 


OLESON’S REVENGE 

J^ESERT! desert! desert! A glitter of sky 
above; a glitter of sand below. Here and 
there a strange, solitary butte, like some round, 
windowless, enchanted tower ; a scatter of thorny 
cactus blossoming with golden crowns ; a twisted, 
contorted Joshua tree, brilliantly green, weirdly 
leafless; or the exquisite, gleaming shaft of the 
bell-hung yucca. A soaring buzzard overhead ; a 
heap of stones surmounted by a cross. This 
was Arizona! 

All day they had been whirling through arid 
stretches in an acrid cloud of alkali dust. A 
torrid heat spell, unusual even in the desert, at 
this time of the year, was on them. Peter was 
beginning to wish heartily for the end of the 
journey: — the sight of a river again, or green, 
waving trees. 

The beasts, too, felt the close confinement, and 
the blasting wind that accompanied the rush of 
169 




170 

Partners for Fair 


the train. They were restless, irritable. Even 
the pretty bantams drooped and moped on their 
perch. They had lost appetite; and scarcely 
greeted Peter when he came to the door of their 
pen to offer them some specially selected 
dainty. 

He had them on his wrist, now; had been pet- 
ting them, cajoling them. 

“ My beauties ! It don’t matter. We’ll be 
through with this soon. Puck! Peas-Blossom ! 
cheer up! We’re going to California! Wait 
till the people clap us ! ” 

But the bantams only drooped their wings and 
panted. So Peter put them back into their wire 
cage. 

At the same moment Oleson entered from the 
other end of the car. 

It was the first time the boy and the big Swede 
had been alone together since Peter’s impish 
trick of the night before. Though the Colonel 
had laughed at the trick in Oleson’s presence, 
he had reprimanded Peter with some severity, 
later. 

“ That sort of thing isn’t going to do,” he 




Oleson’s Revenge 

171 


said. “ It’s childish and foolish in the extreme. 
Oleson is your superior. If he’s rough in his 
ways — put up with it ! Besides it’s never safe to 
tamper with a wild beast’s temper. You can’t 
tell how long it’ll remember; or what form its 
vengeance may take. I’m disappointed in you, 
Peter. I thought you had more judgment; more 
good sense.” 

Peter was mortified, — deeply chagrined. He 
hung his head; but offered no excuses. Oleson’s 
temper had been well-nigh unendurable these last 
few days. He was carping, tyrannical, to an ex- 
tent of which the Colonel did not dream. But a 
deep sense of obligation held Peter’s tongue, — 
made complaint impossible. Since the Colonel 
wished it, he would forget; let by-gones be by- 
gones ; try, indeed, to win the big Swede’s friend- 
ship — which no one else in the troupe had been 
able to win. 

So, now, the boy took a quick step forward, — 
flushing a little, hesitating! 

Oleson flushed, too, darkly; and stood look- 
ing down on Peter from his giant, shambling 
height. There was a queer glint in his eye, — of 




172 

Partners for Fair 


speculation; — of cunning cruelty; — almost of 
satisfied greed. 

Peter’s words somehow seemed to desert him. 
They sank down his throat, and into the hurrying 
turmoil of his furiously beating heart. He was a 
brave boy, enjoying even a spice of danger; — but 
for once in his life he was frightened, frightened 
thoroughly, through and through. 

Oleson saw his terror, saw it leap into his 
eyes; saw it, like a livid badge, take possession 
of his blanching cheeks. 

The big Swede took a step nearer, — laid 
his hand on the boy’s shoulder; and began to 
chuckle softly into his blond bushy beard. 

“ It’s chokes, is it, little master ? ” chuckled 
Oleson. “ Chokes on Old Oleson, to make the 
Colonel laugh ? Well — very well. I tell you that 
before. Two can play at chokes, you bets ! ” 

He seized the boy by his unresisting arm ; lifted 
him as one might lift a yellow puppy; took a 
quick step toward Sultan’s cage; raised his hand 
to the lock ; and stopped. 

The lion was asleep; his splendid, tawny head 
resting on his huge paws. 




Oleson’s Revenge 

173 


“ Oleson! ” the boy managed to gasp. 

Again Oleson laughed; a big, ugly laugh. 

“You don’t like it in there? You’re afraid? 
Afraid — at last? Maybe you like out here bet- 
ter!” 

He stepped to the platform of the car, the last 
car, it was, and leaned far out, holding the boy 
at arm’s length from him. 

“Oleson!” screamed Peter; clinging fran- 
tically. 

But Oleson loosened the grasp; and flung the 
little, suddenly limp, body from him. 

The train swept on. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE ENCHANTED TOWER 

TJETER turned feebly over and blinked at the 
blazing sky. There seemed to be three suns 
up there, spinning round and round. Now and 
again the three would meet, and merge into one 
fierce, whirling ball of fire. The fire hurt 
Peter’s eyes and the back of his head. It also 
seemed, curiously enough, to burn his slender, 
clutching fingers. Peter wondered dizzily. Then 
a great wave of sickness swept over him; and he 
did not wonder any more. 

Next time he opened his eyes it was because of 
the persistent burning of his finger-tips. If what 
you clutch hurts you — why not let go? Peter 
loosened his hold of the iron rail; sat up dizzily 
against the railway embankment; and stared. 

There was one sun in the sky now ; but it was 
a red-hot one! There was a solitary hill, built 
like a square, squat tower without windows, a 
long way across the burning sands. There was 


174 




The Enchanted Tower 

175 


a group of blue mountains, further away even 
than the hill. There was a little patch of dusty 
sage-brush, quite near — but there was not any 
water ! 

Water was what Peter wanted ! He would like 
to dip his aching fingers in it. He would like to 
put his face down, and drink, and drink, and 
drink ! He would like to hear the purling sound 
of the ripples between trembling grass-stems; and 
plunge his arms in to the elbow, and spread his 
fingers out, and see the water flicker through ! 

Peter looked down at his hands. Yes; they 
were burned across; two red bars where he had 
held the burning rail. 

Where was he? What had happened ? To try 
to think started the throbbing pain in the back of 
his head; and made him feel dizzy and sick 
again. 

Yet it is a very strange sensation to find your- 
self entirely alone in the world; with nothing 
but a glitter of sky above; a glitter of sand be- 
low; a bunch of dusty gray sage-brush; and a 
faraway, staring hill, like a squat, square 
tower; — dead, without eyes! 




176 

Partners for Fair 


The helpless tears started in Peter’s own eyes, 
and rolled slowly down his face. He was lost, — 
as a baby might be lost ! Where ? how ? He did 
not know. The pain in his head stabbed again; 
throbbed and burned. 

Oh, for a little shade! a little shade; and a 
drink of sparkling, cool water! 

There might be water back of the queer, star- 
ing hill ! There might be a wood there : a wood 
with shady overhanging bushes, great singing 
pine-trees, and a silver winding path. There 
might be a little house! 

The teasing vision flashed, blurred, and van- 
ished. 

Again the pain stabbed sharply at the back of 
Peter’s head; parted somewhere in the middle 
of his brain, and shot out at his two eyes. It 
would not do to try to think! What had he 
been trying to think? trying to recollect? Who 
was he? where was he? 

Can you imagine how it would seem neither to 
know, nor to remember? To have your own 
name a mystery, your past life suddenly blotted 
from your mind? 




The Enchanted Tower 

177 


For that was what had happened to Peter 
Prayle ! 

Flung from the speeding train by the half- 
crazed Swede, (it is better to think that Ole- 
son was half crazy, than that he was wholly 
wicked,) the boy had struck on the back of his 
head against the railway ties. He had lain in- 
sensible for some moments, grasping the burning 
rail. When, at last, he came to himself, the 
train had vanished. And it hurt him to think. 
It hurt him to try to remember. Had anybody 
questioned him as to his whereabouts, his 
name, his previous history, he would have been 
as little able to inform them as a new-born 
baby. 

Peter Prayle staggered dizzily to his feet, and 
stood alone in the blazing, baking desert. Which 
way should he go? There was not even any 
Peter Piper to go with him; — and what 
was worse, he did not remember, there ever 
had been one! He did not remember Oleson. 
He did not remember the Colonel. He did 
not remember the County House, or Mrs. 
Hammer ! 




oo 

I>S 

Partners for Fair 


Yet, bereft of memory, of any active conscious- 
ness of his past, the boy still had a lively in- 
stinct for self-preservation; and though the pres- 
ent impressions he received might be temporarily 
distorted by shock, he was quite capable of logical 
deduction from them. His immediate and in- 
sistent craving was for shelter from the blazing, 
beating sun. Shade and water were what Peter 
sought ! 

The desert stretched and stretched, baking and 
blistering under a cloudless sky. Sand, sand, 
nothing but glittering sand, that rose in little 
swirling, dancing eddies here and there; — and 
very far, like a grim tower without eyes, the one 
squat, lifeless, waiting hill! 

Peter, shading his eyes with his hand, stood 
for a moment ; then began to plod, slowly, 
wearily toward the ever-distant tower. 

The sand was very heavy. It seemed to drag 
at his feet. If he looked up, the arching, glitter- 
ing sky dazzled; if he looked down, the yellow, 
billowy stretches of sand seemed to shimmer and 
heave. The scorching wind beat like a furnace 
blast against the boy’s pallid face. His parched 




The Enchanted Tower 

179 


lips craved water — water! And the dull pain 
throbbed at the back of his head. 

After a bit he came to a bunch of cactus, and 
threw himself down in the queer sprawling 
shadow it made. A big green lizard crawled 
slowly from behind a stone; and Peter watched 
it — holding his head in his hands, panting like 
a dog. 

But soon his aching eyes came back to the 
tower. He did not dare to look away at the 
dazzling stretch of sand between. He must get 
up and go on again! The tower was beautiful! 
Suddenly a mystic light began to glow and play 
about it, — a shimmering, wonderful radiance, — 
as if thrown by hidden candles within; — candles 
that shone through walls where there were no 
windows ! Peter in startled vision saw that 
there was a garden about the tower — green trees 
waved in it, — trees with great, delicately fringed, 
strangely formed leaves. The leaves were like 
fans — waving, waving together. Peter had never 
seen the like before; and between the tall, slen- 
der trunks of the trees sparkled a pool! And 
beside the pool paced a figure, — a figure which 




180 

Partners for Fair 


turned its face! Peter struggled to his feet, and 
staggered forward. It was not the water — not 
the water! 

“Mother!” cried Peter Prayle. That was 
very strange. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


PETER PIPER TO THE RESCUE 

jyj EANTIME what about the people on the 
speeding train? 

The Colonel, tablet on knee, was writing to 
his sister: 

“ On the whole, it has been a remarkably 
pleasant trip. You can’t think how the boy’s in- 
telligent companionship has added to my enjoy- 
ment of it all. Apart from last evening’s little 
fuss, we have had practically no vexation or 
bother. Everybody’s well ; everybody’s happy, — 
except for this awful heat ! ” The Colonel 
mopped his forehead, and crossed his t with an 
uphill dash. It is hard to write with precision 
on a rocking, rushing train. “ I must say,” the 
Colonel went on, “ that Peter took his scolding 
very well. It is the first time I have had occa- 
sion to reprimand him. He didn’t make any ex- 
cuses; though there were excuses to be made! 
Anybody who knows Oleson, must know that. 

181 




182 

Partners for Fair 


He has gone out to attend to his bantams now; 
and Piper sits opposite me. I wish you could see 
him ! ” 

If Miss Belinda had been able to see Piper, 
she would undoubtedly have laughed. Grace 
Smithers, looking about for a little diversion, had 
her own ideas of a joke! And this time it was 
Peter Piper who was to surprise Peter Prayle. 
Grace had borrowed her mother’s knitted shawl. 
Despite the beating sun, the furnace-like atmos- 
phere, Piper sat sedately by the window, the 
shawl draped about him. He had a frilly lace 
cap on his head, made from the sportive young 
lady’s neatly manipulated handkerchief; her 
father’s spectacles were across his nose, and, as if 
that wasn’t enough, Grace was now trying to in- 
sert Sammy’s favorite briar-wood between 
Piper’s unreceptive jaws. But the dog refused 
to close his teeth on the pipe-stem. If, out of 
pure politeness, he wore a shawl, he must, at 
least, claim the privilege of perspiring after his 
own fashion! 

Again and again Grace picked up the pipe, and 
offered it to Peter Piper. Again and again 


Peter Piper to the Rescue 183 

Peter Piper extended his dripping tongue and 
let the pipe go! 

Sammy looked up suddenly from the game of 
dominoes he was playing with his wife. 

“ If you was ten years younger, I’d whip 
you! ” he threatened the laughing girl. “ I’d not 
have took twenty dollars for that briar-wood ! ” 

A blast of fiery heat swept in from the rear 
of the car. Oleson had opened the door. His 
face was strangely white. He staggered, clutched 
at a chair-back as he came down the aisle. 

“ Mercy, Mr. Oleson ! ” cried Mrs. Smithers, 
springing to her feet. “ Ain’t you well? ” 

Oleson sank into a seat, and let his head fall 
heavily on his arms. His great body shook as 
with an ague. 

Instantly, Mrs. Smithers, Sammy, and the 
three girls were about him. 

“ It’s the heat,” said the Colonel, putting up 
his tablet, and crossing to where the big man 
crouched. “ Bring a glass of water, and open 
his shirt.” 

Blanche Smithers had produced smelling salts ; 
Violet, a fan. 




184 

Partners for Fair 


Oleson, his face buried in his arms, repelled 
their ministrations, with an almost savage ges- 
ture. 

“ He’ll be all right,” said Mrs. Smithers. 
“ Mercy — with the thermometer at a hundred 
and two ! I feel kind o’ frothy inside, myself.” 

Oleson sat up, straightened his shoulders. He 
had drained the glass. 

“ It ain’d notghing,” he muttered with an ob- 
vious effort. Then he began to stare out the 
window. Just sit, and strangely stare! 

The others went back to their seats. Oleson 
had always been queer. It really wasn’t worth 
while to do things for him. 

But what was the matter with Piper? Whin- 
ing, restless, the knitted shawl trailing behind 
him, he stood before the closed door at the 
lower end of the car. Yapped once ; then twice, — 
in his abrupt, characteristic manner. 

“ Oh, he wants to find Peter,” laughed 
Grace. “ What ever is that kid up to ? I’m go- 
ing to see ! ” 

The Colonel returned to his letter; Mr. and 
Mrs. Smithers, to their interrupted game ; 


Peter Piper to the Rescue 185 

Blanche and Violet, to the stories they had been 
reading. 

But, presently, Grace was back again. Her 
face was startled. One or two of the train- 
men, one or two of the keepers were with her. 

Who had seen Peter Prayle? He wasn’t with 
the animals. He wasn’t in the diner; — or out 
in the kitchen with the cook. Who had seen 
Peter ? 

Oleson, getting to his feet, averred : — “ He 
were not mit the liddle cocks. I joost come from 
there ! ” 

Then they began to look; to call. They ques- 
tioned one another; they tried to remember. 
Less than an hour before Peter had been with 
them. 

“ I’m going out to the banties ! ” his gay voice 
had acclaimed from the end of the car. 

Now, he was gone: — literally, inexplicably 
vanished ! 

A thorough search was made : Oleson looking, 
calling, with the others. 

The train was stopped; the engineer, the fire- 
man were questioned. 




1 86 

Partners for Fair 


Apparently, nobody had seen Peter! 

The glittering length of track, like parallel 
sparkling streams spanned the tawny waste be- 
hind them: — till the two rails met, in a single, 
shining thread : — and disappeared. 

They walked along the dusty ties ; calling help- 
lessly; searching with far vision. 

No trace of Peter! No hope, even, of any 
trace of him! 

In the middle of the search Oleson was taken 
ill: — overcome by the blaze of sun. He had to 
be lifted into the car; and ministered to by Mrs. 
Saunders and the three girls. 

You can’t upset railway schedules, even for a 
lost boy ; — no matter how talented, how winning ! 
At the first signal station the Colonel could tele- 
graph. Now, the conductor insisted upon pro- 
ceeding. There wasn’t any use stopping, any- 
way. Nothing more could be done. 

For the last time, the whistle was sounded; the 
bell was rung: — in case Peter should be within 
hearing distance. Then with a swoop, a rush, 
the train plunged on! 

But Piper, forgotten, overlooked, a little blond 


Peter Piper to the Rescue 187 

smudge, scarcely distinguishable in the yellow 
waste of sand, padded doggedly along the back- 
ward stretch of track. Peter’s other friends, be- 
ing human, could reason, could despair. Piper, 
a dog, merely knew that he had to find his 
master ! 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE MIRACLE 

T"\0 not ask me how he did it! It could not 
have been by scent ; it could not have been 
by sight; it could not have been by any process of 
reasoning or deduction. Somehow, it was merely 
the fulfilment of an unconquerable passion and 
devotion. One has heard strange stories of such 
miracles. Love is the one great Magic, in 
this otherwise commonplace, unmagical world, 
whether in the heart of reasoning man, or unrea- 
soning beast ; and the more instinctive, the more 
unselfish the love, — the greater the Magic! 

Peter Prayle lay, white, flaccid, apparently 
lifeless, in a little rounded hollow between two 
hummocks of billowing sand. A sparse growth 
of sage-brush, and bristling bear’s-grass topped 
the hummocks. The great white stars sparkled 
and flashed in the midnight sky, — the wonderful, 
lamping stars of the desert! And the desert 
winds blew chill over the boy’s prostrate body. 




The Miracle 

189 


Not so very far away, — no; really, not so very 
far, — gloomed the square, squat shadow of the 
tower-like hill. Bare, grim, and barren, it rose 
above the waste of lifeless sand. No sparkling 
pool; no green or fragrant garden, surrounded 
it. Lying on his face, his arms still outstretched 
to the cheating tower, Peter Prayle had fallen. 
There, in the middle of the still desert night, 
whimpering, whining, fawning, — exhausted, but 
triumphant, — Peter Piper found him ! 

His master! his little lost master! But why 
should he lie so still ? Why should his cold face, 
his extended, clutching hands, remain so 
strangely, so unfamiliarly, unresponsive? 

Peter Piper frantically licked and caressed the 
boy’s pallid, half-hidden cheek. He pulled him 
by the coat; nestled close as he could against the 
stark little body. Then, over the loneliness of the 
impassive form, the dog sat up on his haunches 
and howled — howled long and woefully to the 
desert sky. 

It takes a great deal to kill a healthy boy. Peter 
Prayle had dropped in the early twilight: dizzy, 
faint, sick with utter exhaustion. He had lain 




190 

Partners for Fair 


where he fell in the hollow of the sand, his two 
arms extended still to the teasing enchantment 
of that terrible, luring, cheating tower! There 
was no garden! There was no pool! Where 
was the use of struggling further? The desert 
wind, chill with evening, blew over him. Pres- 
ently Peter lost consciousness in a heavy lethargy 
— a lethargy that might have known no waking! 

But now something troubled ; — teased and 
vexed his drugged senses. The hollow was pro- 
tected more or less from the wind; the sandy 
bed was still warm beneath his body. Why was 
he not left to lie in peace? Why must he be 
dragged back to hunger, pain, the misery of 
waking ? 

Piper’s tongue was again upon his master’s 
face ! He pulled at his master’s coat. He 
crawled close against his side. He whined; he 
importuned; he nuzzled! Once, twice, he 
yapped. The old imperative, familiar summons. 

And very slowly Peter Prayle opened his eyes; 
raised a weak, flaccid hand, and let it lie on the 
dog’s silky ears. 

Oh — the joy of Peter Piper! He bounded up! 




The Miracle 

191 


He raced round and round; — yelping! yapping! 
You might almost have thought he was a mad 
creature. He returned again and again to his 
master! He kissed Peter Prayle’s face! He 
bored and snuggled his head into his coat! He 
cajoled, frisked, rejoiced, and curvetted! 

Peter Prayle sat up and laughed weakly. Sud- 
denly, he was no longer lonely. The desert had 
lost its terror. He caught the dog's head be- 
tween his two hands. He clasped him close. 
Thus, snuggling together for warmth, the two 
sank down in the little hollow of the sands and 
slept till morning. 


CHAPTER XXV 


KNIGHTS IN KHAKI 

\ BLARE of bugles ! 

Peter Prayle and Peter Piper, startled 
from sleep, peered strangely over the rim of their 
sandy hollow. 

Round the square, squat tower, in the rosy 
dawn, filed a column of horsemen. Two by two 
they came, breaking rank here and there for 
chumship or convenience’ sake, led by a splendid- 
looking man, on a proudly stepping steed which 
arched its glossy chestnut neck, and lifted its 
feet daintily, — throwing a clean-cut, spirited 
shadow. Then followed two white horses: — on 
one of these sat the bugler, his shining trumpet 
with its gold tassels dangling at his hip; on the 
other, a young fellow with a merry face, and a 
strong right arm, who carried a streaming ban- 
ner. Next, in more or less careless alignment, 
came the trotting troop, all on bay or chestnut 
mounts; fresh with the freshness of the morn- 


192 




Knights in Khaki 

193 


ing, — unfagged as yet, by desert heat or dis- 
tance. 

The men were clad in clay-colored uniforms, 
very much the same shade as the surrounding 
sands; the officer who preceded them wore the 
same except for gold decorations upon the 
shoulders. 

Peter Prayle and Peter Piper, peering between 
the bear’s-grass that guarded the sandy hollow, 
blinked ! 

Whence had they come ? these parading, 
proudly stepping horsemen! Were they a party 
of brigands? a band of adventureful knights, 
filing out from behind the grim portals of that 
strange, windowless wonder-working tower: — 
now a tower, again a barren hill! Would they 
fade and vanish vision-wise, as the shady garden, 
the sparkling pool had vanished? 

Peter Prayle, confused, weak, still rambling in 
his wits, trembled and marveled. But Peter 
Piper, — all dog again, — ran out from the shelter- 
ing bear’s-grass to bark and yap at the horses’ 
heels ! 

“ By George ! ” cried the officer, reining in his 




194 

Partners for Fair 


steed. “ A dog ! A sure enough yellow dog ! and 
no coyote ! ” 

He lifted his hand. The troop halted. 

“ Here, sir!” 

Peter Piper, politely responsive as ever, 
stopped barking, ran to the officer’s side, raised 
dark, wistful eyes, — whined once or twice; 
wagged his tail, trotted a little way to the hollow 
where Peter Prayle still hid, — turned and whined 
again. 

The officer dismounted. “ There’s something 
hid back there,” he said; drew his pistol from 
its holster, and followed. 

A moment later he stood looking down at 
Peter Prayle; — a forlorn, wan, shrinking little 
figure, crouching behind the bear’s-grass in the 
yellow sands. 

“ By George ! ” affirmed the officer. “ A 
boy!” 

Then he turned and shouted. “ Bring my 
canteen ! Bring a blanket ! ” 

And to Peter, kindly, but still authoritatively: 
“ Well, sonnie, what have you got to say for 
yourself ? ” 




Knights in Khaki 

195 


But Peter Prayle had nothing to say. If you 
can’t remember who you are, or where you came 
from, how are you going to tell about it? 

“ Knocked silly with the sun, I reckon,” 
opined the boyish-looking color-sergeant, hand- 
ing the officer his canteen. 

Oh, that water! It wasn’t so very cold, per- 
haps ; but trickling between Peter’s parched, 
blackened, thirst-cracked lips, it gave life, hope, 
refreshment, courage! 

“ Thank you ! ” he gasped ; and drank again, 
and held to the canteen with clutching fin- 
gers. 

“ Not too much at a pull, bub,” warned the 
color-sergeant. “ It wouldn’t be good for you. 
Let up there ! ” 

“ I — want some for my dog,” said Peter. 

The men looked at one another. Water in 
the desert is wonderfully precious. 

Then the color-sergeant took off his hat and 
set it on the ground. 

“ Anybody got a drink for the pup ? ” he asked; 
and half-filled the hat from his own canteen. 
Instantly a dozen canteens were offered; but the 




196 

Partners for Fair 


handsome officer, stooping, filled up the hat to 
the brim from his already depleted supply. 

Peter Piper lapped thirstily. And, suddenly, 
the men began to cheer ! 

It isn’t often one comes on a lost boy and a 
lost dog in the middle of the baking Arizona 
plains. As usual there was something winning, 
appealing, in the aspect and general manner of 
the two Peters, soiled, haggard, exhausted to 
the limit though they were. 

The officer gave a brief command. The 
trumpeter raised his bugle to his lips. The re- 
mainder of the troop, which had continued fil- 
ing round the tower-like butte, halted, dismounted 
at the clear, high call. 

Men ran here and there, busily, eagerly help- 
ful. Soon a few dried sticks were collected; a 
fire was made; an orderly galloped back to the 
cook’s wagon, for coffee, bacon, bread. Pres- 
ently the two Peters were warmed and fed ; — the 
troopers waiting on their impromptu guests with 
a touch of hilarious hospitality. “ Don’t be 
afraid of the pate de fois gras , son! It won’t 
choke you ! ” “ After twenty-four hours of 



The Trumpeter Raised His Bugle to His Lips 



















































































Knights in Khaki 

197 


bear’s-grass and sand biled coffee ought to taste 
good ! ” “ You’ve struck it rich, boy ! ” “ Aw ! 
don’t deceive the child: — 


“ Soupy! soupy! soupy! 

Without a single bea7i; 

Porky! porky! porky! 

Without a streak of lean! 

some wag chanted. 

The officer stood by and smiled and twirled 
his mustache. He was amused, interested. The 
morning’s adventure proved a pleasant break to 
desert monotony; and would make a capital 
story. But when he again approached Peter to 
question him, the boy was as hopelessly unrespon- 
sive as ever. 

“ How many days have you been in the desert, 
boy?” 

Peter shook his head. 

“ Who beside the dog there was with you ? ” 

Peter, quite evidently, was troubled. 

“ I — don’t know, sir.” His eyes filled with hot 
tears; he frowned; flushed; and looked away. 

It was sadly vexing, sadly mortifying to be 




198 

Partners for Fair 


asked so many questions he could not answer! 
Questions which made his head spin sickly even 
to think about. 

“ See here, my man. What’s this on your 
coat?” 

The officer touched with his riding-crop the 
golden symbol, the circle and the cross which 
Peter had made a habit of wearing, since first he 
acquired it from among the honeysuckle roots. 

A sudden teasing flash of illusive enlighten- 
ment; a succeeding, giddy nausea; — and all was 
vague again! 

“ I don’t know, sir,” answered Peter hope- 
lessly, wearily. 

“ He’s evidently had a shock of some sort,” 
the officer turned to the color-sergeant. “ He 
isn’t faking, I’m certain. Wrap him up in that 
blanket;” (it was still chilly with the chill of 
early morning,) “ and take him in the wagon 
with you, Sandy.” This to the lean, shambling 
old colored man, in charge of the Commissary. 

So, Peter, wrapped in a gray army blanket, 
with a great U. S. in the middle of it, was lifted 
up on the seat of the lumbering canvas-covered 




Knights in Khaki 

199 


“ schooner,” that followed in the wake of the 
troop, laden with cooking utensils, supplies, the 
heavier camp paraphernalia; while Piper, with 
lolling tongue and the happy consciousness of a 
full stomach, stretched himself beneath the seat. 

“ Boots and Saddles ” was sounded. Instantly, 
the troop was under way, following the gay 
flutter of the colors, flung by the merry-faced ser- 
geant to the morning breeze. 

Sandy, the old colored driver, Peter’s new 
protector, with a face like a wrinkled, worried 
monkey, and a mop of white wool on the top of 
his head, sprang to the seat of the wagon. He 
cracked his whip. With a shake of long ears, 
a rattle of harness, the mules were off. 

The two Peters were again on their way to 
California! They had fallen in with a detach- 
ment of United States troops, marching from an 
isolated Arizona post, to join the mobilizing 
forces on the Mexican border, — where trouble 
with the Insurrectos was expected. Had Peter 
Prayle been able to remember his past hopes, his 
past ambitions, he must have rejoiced. But, 
strangely enough, Peter could not remember ! 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE RED FLAG 



HE heavy wagon lumbered on, in the rear 


of the trotting troop. For two days it fol- 
lowed, over baking desert and wind-swept plain. 

With evening the men would make camp. 
Then the wagon would catch up; rolling in be- 
tween a scatter of flickering fires, which blos- 
somed and blew like scarlet flowers along the 
shadowy mesa. Little V-shaped tents sprang up 
behind the fires. The horses, standing nose to 
nose along the picket-line, whinnied and whick- 
ered. Supper was served ; steaming coffee, stew, 
and bread. The soldiers, gathering about the 
fires, would sing, swap stories; or, rolling them- 
selves in their blankets, crawl into the V-shaped 
tents. Presently, “ Taps ” sounded, in long- 
drawn, restful, falling notes. A coyote yapped 
somewhere beyond the camp ; another an- 
swered . . . 


200 


The Red Flag 


201 


And with the first red streak of dawning, the 
bugle sounded “ Reveille ! ” 

To Peter Prayle, dazed, indifferent, strangely 
unresponsive, the two days passed as a sort of 
waking dream. He could not think. He could 
not remember! He felt well enough; only oddly 
quiet and impassive. The world was a picture- 
book — to which eyes and heart had suddenly 
grown insensible. 

Sandy, the old colored man, finding his 
friendly advances of no avail, finally grew tired 
of trying to interest or rouse the boy. Ques- 
tions evidently only distressed Peter. He was 
docile, obedient, ate what was set before him; — 
but the spring of ambition, of initiative some- 
how was gone. Once, indeed, he showed a flash 
of temper. It was when Sandy, calling to the 
ranging Piper, improvised, for convenience’ sake, 
a new name : — 

“ Heeh — you Rover ! ” the old darkey sum- 
moned. 

And Peter, turning with an angry flush, cried : 
“ That’s wrong ! ” 

But he could not supply the right name. It 




202 

Partners for Fair 


made him sick and faintly giddy, even to try. 

The third morning they reached Rice, — the 
little desert railway station on the Southern Pa- 
cific, where the troop was to connect with the 
waiting train. Here, men and horses embarked ; 
and late the following evening, disembarked again 
at Yuma. Once more they took to the road, 
crossing the Imperial Valley, and thence on, into 
the green and restful foothills of San Diego. 
Here, at a little border town, they halted. 

It was a pleasant little town, quaint with old 
adobe houses. Pigeons, dogs, and children 
filled the sunny streets. Bare-headed women 
stood to laugh or gossip in groups under the 
overhanging pepper-tree, beside the common well. 
The population was mixed Mexican and Ameri- 
can; and nobody seemed to hurry or take any 
thought for the morrow. 

The troopers camped on a hill above the town, 
where oak-trees offered a grateful shade, and 
water was accessible from a wooded canon below. 
To the sound of the bugle they ate, drilled, and 
slept, patrolling the surrounding country, often 
being absent on an extended march of two or 


The Red Flag 


203 


three days. Though there was no real fighting to 
speak of, bands of marauding brigands, under 
cover of the Insurrecto name, pillaged and ter- 
rorized where they could. Peter took his share 
in the routine of camp life, but listlessly. For 
the brooding cloud still rested on his spirit. 
Nothing seemed to matter much. Why should 
it, when one could not remember ? could not even 
tell one’s own name? The boy’s mind was con- 
tinually vexed with teasing, illusive suggestions, 
which, when he tried to follow them, dissipated 
into a dull dizzy pain. Had he been in normal 
health and spirits, the adventure would have been 
a delightful one. As it was, the days passed 
monotonously, old Sandy seeing to it, that he 
lacked nothing the rough life afforded in the way 
of creature comforts. 

It was on a sunny afternoon early in July that 
Peter stood on the little wooden bridge that 
spanned the canon as you entered the town from 
the south; and, in company with a number of 
other boys, played at fishing. They had impro- 
vised rods and lines, and leaned far over the 
wooden railing, trying their luck in the rocky 




204 

Partners for Fair 


gorge below the bridge. There was very little 
water in the canon at this season of the year, and 
it was not for real fish that the boys angled. But 
if a dangling line caught in a cluster of blos- 
soming box-elder, with which the canon was full, 
with triumphant shout the successful youngster 
hauled it in. He had caught a fish ! Most of the 
boys were Mexicans. Peter had wandered down 
to join them in their sport; for the troop having 
been absent for nearly a week on field-duty, the 
deserted camp seemed desolate and lonely. Of 
course, Peter Piper had accompanied Peter 
Prayle. 

A blue- jay screamed and flashed in the canon 
under the bridge. A squirrel frisked along a tree- 
trunk, — and vanished! 

“I’d like to catch that feller!” Jim Harris, 
the only other American besides Peter, an- 
nounced. 

At the same moment a brisk report of mus- 
ketry rang out. 

Over the hill, on the other side of the bridge, 
a scatter of men came running. They had guns 
in their hands, and one of them carried a tat- 




The Red Flag 

205 


tered red flag. He stopped for a moment, turned, 
and waved the banner to his companions. 

The other boys, at the sight of the advancing 
Insurrectos, (the red flag proclaimed them!) had 
ducked and dodged, springing over the wooden 
railing, — trusting themselves to the bushes and 
stones of the canon. But Peter Prayle stood 
quite still, dazed, helpless. 

The advancing party surged on across the 
bridge, — some thirty men perhaps. Seeing Peter 
standing there, an unconscious obstacle, one fel- 
low struck savagely at him with the butt of his 
musket. Peter staggered, swayed, caught at the 
wooden railing. Another man raised his pistol, 
about to fire. . . . 

When swooping down through the little town 
like a great gray bird, flashed a motor car! A 
girl, eager-faced, beautiful, ardent, was at the 
wheel. The tonneau behind her was full of flow- 
ers — a basket of fragrant, colorful bloom. 

“ Cowards ! ” cried the girl, her voice ringing 
young, sweet, and scornful. “ Cowards ! It’s 
only a boy! You’re frightened out of your wits. 
You don’t know what you are doing. Sillies !” 




206 

Partners for Fair 


She stopped the car in the middle of the bridge ; 
sprang out and ran to Peter, who had fallen and 
lay, his white face lifted to the sunshine, an ugly 
bruise disfiguring the left temple, where a trickle 
of blood oozed into his blond hair. 

The Insurrectos had swept on, firing a second 
fusillade as they passed through the deserted 
streets of the little village. 

The girl bent over Peter and laid her ear to 
his heart. 

“ He isn’t dead,” she breathed, and began to 
tremble. “ Oh, the great ugly bruise ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


ROSAMUND 

“Y OU are Rosamund ! ” 

Peter opened his eyes and smiled wanly 
into the smiling face of the beautiful girl. 

“ I know I am,” she agreed instantly. “ But 
how did you know it ? ” 

When Peter parted his lips to answer the girl 
slipped a teaspoon between them, — and laughed 
at the ensuing sputter. 

“ It’s your simulant. Swallow it,” she com- 
manded. “ And I’m your nurse. Now go to 
sleep.” 

Peter obeyed, turning his bandaged head a 
little wearily upon the pillow. 

When he next opened his eyes the girl was 
gone. 

Peter Prayle lay in a snowy bed, in a dainty, 
spotless room. The walls were tinted in pale- 
rose color. A beautiful picture of the Madonna 
hung opposite the bed, and on either side of 
207 




208 

Partners for Fair 


the Madonna were two open windows. Through 
the windows Peter could hear a mocking-bird 
singing. A glitter of trembling palm-branches 
tossed now and again against the window-frames ; 
and the faint, delicious fragrance of heliotrope 
was wafted through the casement. 

Peter lifted one of his hands and looked at it. 
It was very white and thin. He had on a ruffled 
nightshirt. His head was bound up. He must 
have been hurt some way. Yes . . . standing 
on the bridge ... he had been struck and 
thrown down by a rushing hurry of men. . . . 

A familiar, imperative yap sounded outside 
the closed door. 

“You rascal! He’s asleep. Keep quiet.” 

The door opened very gently, and Rosamund 
and Peter Piper came in. 

“You are awake, are you?” said Rosamund, 
smiling down at her patient with the same eyes, 
the same mouth that had welcomed Peter, (so 
long ago!) when he stood before the silver- 
framed portrait, a shabby, frightened little in- 
truder in the woodland cottage! Maybe it was 
all a dream, — then and now! Yet there was 


Rosamund 209 

something wonderfully, appealingly familiar in 
that smile. 

“ You’re — not my mother !” gasped Peter 
Prayle. 

Again Rosamund laughed, and bent to the 
boy. 

“ You little oddity! ” she cried. 

Peter caught her brown hands in his thin ones. 

“ I don’t understand,” he wondered. “ I saw 
you once in a picture. And then I forgot. And 
then I saw my mother — walking by a pool. But 
I couldn’t get there. She looked like you. And 
now I remember things again ! ” 

Rosamund freed herself, and stepped quickly 
to the door. 

“ Aunty Doctor ! ” she called. “ Come quick ! 
He’s awake, and his hands are cool. But he’s 
talking such a string!” 

A rustle of skirts sounded in the hall. In- 
stantly, the doorway was filled by a short, stout- 
ish lady, who had such a splendid face, and 
spirited carriage, that despite the plainness of her 
features anybody would have been foolish who 
did not take pleasure in looking at her. Peter 




210 

Partners for Fair 


liked her right away; trusted her; was ready to 
obey her, as she came to the side of the bed. 

“ Well, how’s our patient ? ” She had his 
wrist under her clever, magnetic fingers. “ Bet- 
ter? That’s right. Ready to eat a little supper, 
and say how-de-do to his dog again? Down, 
dog! Don’t make such a fuss?” 

For Peter Piper, not to be denied, had both 
paws on the edge of the bed. With waving tail, 
and limpid eyes, he looked into his master’s 
face, squeaking pianissimo. As in duty bound, 
he had run yapping after the fleeing Insurrectos, 
returning to the bridge just in time to see Peter 
Prayle’s apparently lifeless body lifted into the 
gray car. Ventre a terre Peter Piper had fol- 
lowed the gray car! Now, for the first time in 
many days, he heard his master speak his name ! 

“ Piper ! old chap,” Peter let the hand the doc- 
tor was not holding rest on the dog’s silky head. 
“ We’re partners . . . for fair. ... I remem- 
ber . . . we’re going to California ...” 

“ Bless the boy,” cried the doctor. “ Doesn’t 
he know where he is ? San Diego is in Southern 
California. Best county in the state, too ! ” 




Rosamund 

21 I 


But this was a little beyond Peter. He only 
blinked. 

“ Ask him about our badge, Auntie. Pm wild 
to know ! Where’d you get it, boy dear ? ” 

Rosamund, standing beside her aunt, touched 
the little gold badge she wore in the rolling, 
open collar of her white blouse. It was the 
golden circle and cross ! “ There were only 

twelve of us who could wear it, — and no boys. 
But you had one in your coat ! One of our 
badges! That was why I wouldn’t give you up 
to the old colored man, who came running out 
from the camp. He told how they found you in 
the desert, — and that you wouldn’t answer any 
questions. But how did you get our badge, boy 
dear ? ” 

“ I found it in the honeysuckle,” answered 
Peter slowly. “ In the roots of the honeysuckle 
... the night I tidied the garden . . . be- 
fore the elephant came.” 

“ Then it was an elephant!” cried Rosamund, 
throwing out her two hands, as if to say : “ Be- 
lieving this, — what next?” 

“ An elephant that trampled up our garden ! 




212 

Partners for Fair 


All the girls have written about it, — and each 
had a different theory! And you were the boy 
that ate the party, — the whole of a party, all by 
yourself ! Of course, that part of it had to be a 
boy! Well ” 

Meantime another lady had entered the room. 
A very pretty lady with blue eyes and rosy 
cheeks and the sunny open face of a child. 

“ Supper is ready, doctor,” she announced. 
“ Will the boy be able to eat anything? ” 

“If Rosamund will keep quiet, perhaps he 
may,” answered the doctor, somewhat severely. 
“ Between these two children you would think we 
were in the last act of a strawberry-mark-under- 
my-left-ear-take-me-home-to-mamma-melodrama ! 
Not another word till he is stronger.” 

“ But, Auntie Doctor, it’s all such a mystery ! ” 
the girl protested. “ You’re anxious to know 
yourself! If this boy is the boy who occupied 
Sunday House ” 

“ Rosamund,” warned the doctor, “ go out of 
this room before I put you out! A girl who 
leaves home with an auto full of flowers to 
decorate the church, and returns with an insen- 




Rosamund 

213 


sible boy whom she has rescued from the Insur- 
rectos, — doesn’t want to kill him with questions 
the moment he opens his eyes. He is my patient, 
anyway. His pulse is normal- for the first time 
in three days. And I forbid you speaking to 
him again until to-morrow. To me he seems a 
very nice child, and worth the saving ! ” 

Then the three ladies went out of the room, 
and left Peter remembering, remembering, re- 
membering! Oh, the joy of being able to lie and 
piece the past together! He remembered the 
County House. He remembered Mrs. Hammer. 
He remembered the little woodland cottage and 
the pretty portraits of the twelve girls, and the 
painted scroll from which he had learned their 
names. Rosamund would tell him all about that ! 
He remembered Old Tip, — of course he did! 
And the Colonel; and Grace Smithers; and Ole- 
son ! It was Oleson who had thrown him out 
of the car. Then things grew dreamy and indif- 
ferent, — blurred, confused, like an evil dream. 
Till he opened his eyes on Rosamund’s face! 
Rosamund, whose portrait he had liked the best 
of all, — because she looked like his mother! 




214 

Partners for Fair 


So Peter lay and thought, mustering his mem- 
ories for the very pleasure of it. Though he was 
weak, he no longer felt either dizzy or sick. What 
the blow at the back of his neck against the rail- 
way ties had knocked out of his head, the no less 
stunning blow delivered by the butt of the flying 
Insurrecto’s musket had knocked in again, — or 
so he crudely surmised. As to the present, he 
was in California, — and he had found Rosa- 
mund! Peter Piper lay at the side of his bed. 
All was well. 

At that moment, the door opened silently. 
Rosamund, all a-sparkle, tiptoed in. She bore a 
lacquer tray with a bowl of chicken-broth upon 
it. This she placed on the table beside Peter, 
put her finger on her lips, and vanished. 

As Peter tasted the first spoonful of broth, 
Rosamund again thrust her head through the 
door. “ You’ll tell us all about it to-morrow, 
won’t you, boy dear ? ” she whispered. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


PETER’S FAMILY 

ND the next morning Peter di’d; — but not 
without interruptions! 

First the ladies had to dress him in a gorgeous 
kimono borrowed from Rosamund, with butter- 
fly’s wings all over it and broad bands of Ori- 
ental silk. Some boys would not have liked this ; 
but Peter, when they put him into it, though a 
little shy, felt very grand! Rosamund, catching 
him glancing into the mirror, laughed. Then she 
snatched up a bottle of orange-blossom perfume 
from the dressing-table, took out the glass stop- 
per, and actually dabbed a bit on the boy’s blond 
head! It was odd how many things Rosamund 
did to remind Peter of his mother! She next 
dabbed a bit of the cologne on Piper’s head, 
(who did not appreciate the attention, and tried 
to wriggle under the bed,) and brought a rose- 
colored ribbon and tied it to his collar. Piper 
retired into a corner and bit the ribbon in two. 
The doctor laughed and touched an electric but- 
215 




216 

Partners for Fair 


ton. A Japanese servant came in and picked 
Peter up and carried him out to the shady patio 
at the back of the long, low bungalow. Here 
palm-trees whispered, and heliotrope and roses 
scented the air; a fountain splashed somewhere, 
hidden behind rustling bamboo. 

“ What a beautiful garden ! ” cried Peter. “ Is 
this really California? I’d almost believe it was 
heaven ! ” 

“ Wait till you’re strong again,” promised 
Rosamund. “ I’ll take you all over the place. 
Auntie Doctor has ten acres here! An orange 
grove, almonds, apricots, olives! The olives are 
my favorites, so gray and restful. We have a 
chicken ranch, too. That belongs to Aunt Celia ; 
and I’m her partner. We make quite a lot of 
money, and have heaps of fun. They are white 
Wyandottes. We launder them, and walk them 
through bluing for exhibition ! When my throat 
gave out, the last year in college, and I had to 
give up the thought of Paris, and a musical 
career, — I used to lie in bed nights and hope I’d 
die. I didn’t believe I could ever be happy again. 
But Auntie Doctor laughed that out of me. She 




Peter’s Family 

217 


says there’s lots in the world besides high C! 
And now I’m beginning to believe her ! ” 

“ You chatterbox!” The two elder ladies 
with their sewing, had come out to join the boy 
and girl in the patio. “ I thought it was our 
guest who was to tell us his story this morning ? ” 

So, rather shyly, Peter began. 

“ And where was this institution? ” Miss Celia 
interrupted. Peter was telling of the County 
House fire, and how he had first thought of com- 
ing to California, to find his relations. 

“ In New Jersey, ma’am, — Judson County,” 
Peter answered. 

The two ladies exchanged startled glances. 

“ You haven’t told us your name, my dear. 
We know some of the families in Judson 
County.” 

“ My name is Peter Prayle,” the boy an- 
swered. “ And my father’s name was John. But 
my grandfather was Peter, too.” 

“ Auntie Doctor ! ” Rosamund had sprung to 
the elder lady’s side. “Auntie Doctor! What’s 
the matter ? Are you ill ? ” 

“ Celia!” 




218 

Partners for Fair 


“ Sister ! ” 

The two ladies were staring at each other. 
The doctor had dropped her work. Her face 
was working strangely. 

Now she rose, walked slowly to Peter, lying 
startled in his hammock, and stood looking 
down, searching every lineament of the child’s 
puzzled, questioning face. 

“ Celia ! It must be. Elizabeth’s boy ! There 
was a boy, you know.” 

And Miss Celia, the tears streaming from her 
blue eyes, came and knelt beside Peter, and took 
his thin little hand in hers. 

“ Tell us about your mother,” she said. 

“ My mother,” obeyed Peter, “ was very beau- 
tiful. She died.” 

Miss Celia had buried her face in her handker- 
chief. She was sobbing now. The doctor’s 
strong mouth trembled. 

Rosamund, stealing to her side, clung and com- 
forted, — though neither she nor Peter under- 
stood. 

“ Did you know my mother? ” Peter ventured 
then. 




Peter’s Family 

219 


“ She was our child,” sobbed Miss Celia. 
“ Our own dear girl ! so spirited, so beautiful, so 
good! Oh, Doctor! Doctor! I always said we 
should have had more patience ! ” 

“ There was nothing we could do, Celia. It 
was Elizabeth’s own pride that was her ruin. 
She could have come back to us. There was a 
home for her at any time ! ” 

“ Auntie Doctor ! ” cried Rosamund, adminis- 
tering a little shake. “ What are you talking 
about ? What had my Aunt Elizabeth to do with 
this Peter Prayle ? ” 

“ Your Aunt Elizabeth was Peter’s mother,” 
said the doctor. “ And Peter is your cousin ! ” 
A mocking-bird began to sing somewhere hid- 
den among the bamboo. The fountain splashed. 
Peter Piper, wagging his tail, came slowly to the 
hammock. What was all the fuss about? He 
thrust his nose into Peter Prayle’s hand, and 
whined. Didn’t anybody remember there was a 
dog present? 

Suddenly Rosamund was on her knees, too. 
Impulsively her arms were about the hammock, — 
including both Peters ! 




220 

Partners for Fair 


“ My cousin ! ” she cried. “ I never had a 
cousin in my life! Peter Prayle! Peter Piper! 
How splendid ! ” 

And Peter Prayle, half smothered, wholly 
confused, could only gasp : — “ We’ve found ’em, 
I guess! We’ve found ’em, old chap! ” 

The more they discussed the matter, the more 
certain it became. Peter Prayle had found his 
family! There was nothing so very wonderful 
about it, after all. Dr. Halleck and her sister, 
after the breakup of their Philadelphia home, 
had come out to California, as Mrs. Hammer had 
told Peter. This was some ten or eleven years 
before. They had settled in San Diego, and 
when Rosamund, their orphaned great-niece, had 
broken down at the end of her college course, 
they had insisted that she give up the thought 
of further study, and sent for her to join them. 
Peter, in his wanderings, had visited, first, the 
hidden college clubhouse ; and then been led, wit- 
less, almost to his aunts’ very door! 

The doctor, standing in the middle of the 
patio , wiping her eyes, looked down on Peter 
and Rosamund. 




Peter’s Family 

221 


“ God is very good to us, Celia,” she said. 
“ We have a boy and a girl again. Let’s do better 
this time ! ” 

That afternoon, amid exclamations of wonder, 
interest, and pity, Peter told the rest of his story. 

“ And you’ve really trained lions, — and ban- 
tams ! ” cried Rosamund. “ Auntie Doctor ! 
Don’t you remember something in the paper about 
the circus boy who was lost from the train? To 
think it should be our Peter ! ” 

“ We will have to write to the Colonel,” Miss 
Celia said. “ And tell him that you are safe. 
He was a wonderfully good friend; but he can’t 
have Peter again. Our boy is our boy ! ” 

The Colonel answered Miss Celia’s letter by 
telegram, announcing his speedy appearance at 
“ Cornucopia Ranch.” 

It was two days later that he arrived, courtly 
and immaculate as ever. The two Peters ran 
down the palm avenue to meet the gray car. 

“ By George ! ” cried the Colonel, springing 
out. “ The boy is really safe ! I could not be- 
lieve it, till I saw it with my own eyes ! ” 

“ I’ve been a soldier, sir,” answered Peter, not 




222 

Partners for Fair 


a little proudly. “ And was knocked out by the 
Insurrectos.” 

The Colonel put out his hand to Piper, wag- 
ging and leaping about in joy at the sight of an 
old friend. 

“ Here’s the real hero,” he explained to the 
ladies, who stood in a welcoming group on the 
veranda steps. “ We others, being human, gave 
the boy up. But a dog’s a dog, sir — faithful to 
the end ! ” 

It was a very pleasant little party that gath- 
ered that evening about the tea-table in the patio. 
Peter had many questions to ask: — How was 
Grace Smithers? Old Tip? Puck and Peas- 
Blossom, his pretty bantam pets ? 

And the Colonel’s answers seemed of equal 
interest to all. 

“ Somehow the little birds never did so well 
with any other trainer, son. I gave them for a 
bit to Oleson; but he couldn’t manage them at 
all. You’ve read, have you, or heard of the acci- 
dent?” 

Peter shook his head, a little pale. Though 
he had wished to ask after Oleson he had found 




Peter’s Family 

223 


it difficult to frame the question. The very 
memory of the big Swede inspired a strange 
terror. 

“ It was our first rehearsal in Los Angeles,” 
the Colonel explained. “ Somehow, Oleson never 
did seem to get over his desert trip; — in the 
light of what you tell me, I understand that bet- 
ter. He was more surly, more uncertain as to 
temper than ever, if such a thing were possible; 
and in addition he seemed to have lost his nerve. 
There was nothing on this occasion to give warn- 
ing of trouble, till in the middle of the mixed 
puma, lion, and leopard act, Sultan flatly rebelled. 
He sat on his pedestal, and refused to come down. 
Oleson lost his temper, and struck at him with the 
goad. Sultan sprang, then and there; the other 
beasts joined the fight. We managed to beat 
them off and rescue Oleson; but that night, in 
the hospital, he had both arms amputated. He 
refused the pension I offered him, and sailed 
back to Sweden. He told me he had plenty of 
money put by for a rainy day. I think/’ said the 
Colonel slowly, “ it would be a relief to him to 
know that you are safe.” 




224 

Partners for Fair 


There was a moment of silence. Then Peter 
said : — “ I’m sorry he was hurt so bad. Til — 
write him a letter. How about Sultan, sir ? ” 

“ Ordered him shot,” returned the Colonel. 
“ He was no longer safe.” 

After that the talk turned to lighter topics. 
The Colonel told of letters he had had from his 
sister; of the wonderful success Mrs. Smithers 
was making in the New Flying and Equestrian 
Feat. “She’s got the girls beat hollow, again; 
and Sammy is tickled to death ! ” 

“ I don’t suppose there’s any hope, Doctor,” 
continued the Colonel, a bit wistfully, “ that you 
will let me take this young gentleman back to 
the Show? His bantams miss him sorely, — and 
so do we all ! ” 

The doctor smiled and shook her head. “ We 
can never thank you for your goodness to Peter,” 
she said. “You will be friends always, I hope; 
but our boy is our boy. And Peter Prayle has 
found his family ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE GOLDEN CIRCLE 

“JgEAT you to the house ! ” challenged Rosa- 
mund. Neck to neck the ponies were off! 

The two cousins had been making the tour of 
the ranch. Directly after breakfast they had set 
out. It was Peter’s first day in the saddle 
and his first comprehensive view of his aunt’s 
estate. 

Certainly, Cornucopia Ranch fulfilled, and 
more than fulfilled, Rosamund’s loving boast. 
Though it was mid-September, the driest and 
most burned up season of the year in Southern 
California, the doctor’s well-cared-for orange 
grove rustled green and glossy as ever. Under 
giant oak-trees her fine Jerseys browsed in com- 
fort. Miss Celia’s white Wyandottes clucked and 
scratched in their half-acre chicken-yard. The 
neighboring vineyard, delicately fragrant, was 
full of ripening grapes, while among the purpling 
clusters honey-bees cruised and buzzed. Glisten- 


225 




226 

Partners for Fair 


ing olive-trees clothed the little hill that rose 
above the vineyard ; and it was on the sunny sum- 
mit of this hill that Peter and Rosamund drew 
rein to take a bird’s-eye view of the picturesque 
gray bungalow that nestled below them, half 
buried among palms, bamboo, and clustering 
roses. Piper, a-quiver with excitement, dug for 
ground-squirrels with an enthusiasm that merited 
success ! 

“ It is a lovely place, isn’t it ? ” Rosamund had 
said. “ We’re to have the next six months to get 
fat in, Auntie Doctor promises. Then school be- 
gins for you, and perhaps I’m to be allowed to 
try my voice again ! ” 

“ Quit it, Bonnie! Well-bred ponies don’t nip 
their neighbors.” The little bay tossed its dainty 
head. 

Bluebell, Peter’s slender roan, arched her 
shining neck and pawed impatiently. 

“ Beat you to the house ! ” challenged Rosa- 
mund. 

Helter-skelter they rollicked down hill! Hel- 
ter-skelter they clattered into the patio ; — Piper 
yelping in mad excitement at their heels. 




The Golden Circle 

227 


“ You young Indians ! That’s no way to ride,” 
reproved the doctor, appearing with Miss Celia 
and the startled servants in the doorway. “ Tie 
the ponies in the shade to cool off. Rosamund, 
I’m ashamed of you. Peter, lie down in that 
hammock and don’t get up till I tell you you may. 
This place is not a circus: — and I’m not going 
to have my girl turned into a Flying Eques- 
trian. Do you understand ? ” 

Rosamund laughed as she flung herself in a 
low chair beside the hammock. 

“ How the girls will buzz when they get my let- 
ter,” she gloated. “ To find a circus boy shot 
down by Insurrectos, and bring him home — and 
discover he’s your long-lost cousin ! Jane will be 
jealous as a fiend ! ” 

“ Why, — Jane was the good one,” reproved 
Peter, shocked. “ She couldn’t be jealous! ” 
“Couldn’t she just!” Rosamund laughed. 
“ Jane is going to be a deaconess ; but she has 
such green eyes that nobody dared to put their 
arm around anybody’s waist when she was in the 
room! Jane’s a dear, though. So penitent after 
her little flashes. You’d love her! ” 




228 

Partners for Fair 


“ I loved them all,” admitted Peter naively. 
“ Do tell about them, Rosamund. You’ve never 
answered half my questions ! ” 

Rosamund, her arms hugging both her knees, 
on which her chin rested, began : — “ The Golden 
Circle wasn’t a Frat, exactly. Prexie doesn’t 
quite approve of frats. Besides, they are so 
common. Any girl can make most any frat she 
pleases, if she tries hard enough. This was just 
a little Circle, for girls who had the same am- 
bitions and ideals. We didn’t have any officers 
or any rules. Just the Painted Scroll. Once 
your name was down on that, — you belonged ! 

“ Sunday House was where we spent our week- 
ends. Prexie would give us leave two or three 
times a Semester. We took the train; — and rode 
ten miles out from the station on our wheels. 
We didn’t even have a chaperon; for the land 
belonged to my father, and everybody knew us. 
Pie had built the cottage there for a hunting- 
lodge. When we girls wanted it, we had it done 
over, and that was how it was so nice. Such 
talks and times as we had there! They helped 
us all, I guess. 




The Golden Circle 

229 


“ You see, you couldn’t belong to the circle 
unless you intended to do something in the world. 
When my voice was trained, I intended to give 
concerts to children. Little poor children, in 
orphan asylums, without any mothers to sing 
to them, you know. Maybe I shall do it 
yet ! 

“ The day you came the girls were going to 
give a party, a surprise initiation party to Theresa, 
who was our latest member. We’d been doubtful 
about Theresa for a long time, — she seemed 
frivolous. But when we discovered she was going 
to be a doctor, and go to India, of course, we 
had to let her in ! ” 

“ Was Theresa the girl with the snub nose, 
whose picture stood on the little desk ? ” Peter 
wanted to know. 

“ Mercy, no ! That was Oona. She is study- 
ing astronomy. We used to go out and lie in 
the garden in a row and let her tell us about the 
stars. She was going to discover a star of her 
own some day; but now she’s gone and got en- 
gaged. It’s a great pity! She promised to be 
so useful ! ” Rosamund shook her head. 




230 

Partners for Fair 


“ But how was it they went off and left the 
party that day ? ” Peter asked. 

“ Why, — they waited and waited for Theresa, 
— and she never came! They hung Jocko, her 
monkey, out on the veranda to surprise her; — 
and then it was discovered that everybody had 
been so excited over the plans for the party, — 
that they had quite forgotten to send out an in- 
vitation to the honored guest ! So they took the 
next train up to town to capture her — and in 
walked Peter Prayle and Peter Piper and ate up 
all the party ! ” 

Rosamund and Peter burst together into a 
delighted laugh. 

While they were still laughing, Ogawa, the 
Japanese servant, silently entered the patio, fol- 
lowed by a boy carrying a wooden-slatted 
box. 

“ A present for the little master,” announced 
Ogawa. 

Peter sprang to his feet, and running to the 
box quickly removed a couple of slats. 

Inside sounded a flutter, a tap-tap of little 
feet. 




The Golden Circle 

231 


Peter gave a great shout of joy, as Puck and 
Peas-Blossom, his bantam pets, hopped daintily 
out into the sunshine of the patio. 

“ They are from the Colonel ! ” cried Rosa- 
mund, clapping her hands. “ The old dear ! 
Read what he says,” and she pointed to the card 
nailed to the top of the crate. 

“For PETER PRAYLE, 
Cornucopia Ranch. 

With the Compliments of the 

Seven Wonders Show!” 


Peter read. 

At that moment the doctor and Miss Celia, 
attracted by the excitement, appeared in the 
patio. 

“ The little beauties ! ” cried Miss Celia. 
“ You must give an exhibition for us this after- 
noon, Peter, — you and Peter Piper ! ” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” answered Peter soberly, his 
hand on Piper’s collar. “ We will.” 

“ What’s the matter ? ” asked the doctor. 




232 

Partners for Fair 


“ Do the banties make you homesick for the 
show ? ” 

“ No,” returned Peter, still seriously. “ I was 
just thinking how nice everything had turned 
out!” 


THE END 



BY ALICE CALHOUN HAINES 

For Young Folks from 9 to 1 6 Years old. 


PARTNERS FOR FAIR 

With illustrations by Faith Avery. $1.25 net. 

A story full of action, not untinged by pathos, of a boy 
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THE LUCK OF THE DUDLEY GRAHAMS 

Illustrated by Francis Day. 300 pp., i2mo. $1.50. 

A family story of city life. Lightened by humor and an 
airship. 

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A sequel to the above. Illustrated by Francis Day. 

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An out-of-door story for girls which tells how Doro- 
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LIFE. STORIES FOR THE YOUNG 


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The narrative has spirit, color, and atmosphere, and is 
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By MARY W. PLUMMER 

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For boys and girls from io to 16 years, with maps and 
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STORIES FROM 

THE CHRONICLE OF THE CID 

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BILL THE MINDER 

Written and illustrated by W. Heath Robinson. Sixteen 
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GULLIVER’S VOYAGES to LILLIPUT and BROBDIGNAG 

By Jonathan Swift. Illustrated in color and line, and dec- 
orated, by P. A. Staynes. Boxed. $2.00 net. 

Children of all ages have been fascinated with fairy-tales, 
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BOOKS OF PLAYS FOR YOUNG FOLK 

DESIGNED FOR USE IN THE SCHOOLS 
By CONSTANCE D’ARCY MACKAY 
PATRIOTIC PLAYS AND PAGEANTS 


r t>^ G 5 ANT Patriotism (Outdoor):— Prologue by the Soirit 
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Abraham Lincoin Episode ' rinai 

Pageant of Patriotism (Indoor) a variation of the above. 

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Contents: — “The Silver Thread” (Cornish); “The Forest 
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“Tom Strong saw and did enough to keep half a dozen active young- 
sters busy. . . . Zed Pratt, the woodsman, and fat Hans, the 

Hessian, were friends worth having .”— New York Sun. 


HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 



SEP 12 1912 


























I 






















LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



